Mind and Body
by Dash Westwood
Summary: The Doctor has another attempt at taking Amy and Rory on a romantic getaway, but things don't go quite as expected. The second story in a planned "mini-arc" trilogy set within Season 5 of Doctor Who.
1. The Turning Point

**CHAPTER 1: The Turning Point**

"You need a holiday!"

Bouncing around the central console of the TARDIS, the Doctor addressed his companion Amy - and her partner, Rory - through an ear-wide smile of unrestrained glee. His enthusiasm was obvious, born not so much from the gesture of giving the betrothed pair some quality couple time - as genuine as that gesture was - but from the wonder they'd share when those blue doors would next open. Years of travel across time and space had quickly revealed him as one who lived for the journey, but seeing amazement and awe in the eyes of those who lived for the destination? That was what he truly lived for.

Rory eyes darted to and fro, barely keeping up with the Doctor's rapid movements but trying to meet them regardless. "You, uh, just gave us one," he reminded him. "Venice?"

"I mean a _real _holiday," the Doctor replied. "Fish from space? Not that romantic. Forget fish from space - in fact, forget Venice! What about a planet made entirely of canals? All canals, pole to pole! Or a world that's set under the eternal light of three moons - great nightlife, save for the werewolves. Oh - oh! - what about a place where the flowers actually talk to you? Like one of those electronic greeting cards, except alive and conscious and with feelings and..." He stopped to bite his lip in realisation. "No, let's not do that. Not unless you want to get arrested for planticide and sentenced by a daffodil."

Amy approached the TARDIS console and casually draped her fingers over its intricate array of controls. "Doesn't this thing do 'normal', Doctor? What about somewhere that keeps the plants quiet, the moons singular, and the canals to a minimum?"

The Doctor looked at her. "You mean somewhere boring."

"I mean somewhere nice! Somewhere simple!" Amy wandered over to Rory and draped herself on his shoulder. "Being with this lug won't count for much if the natives of Planet Crazy Caves have our heads on a pike."

"Oh, come on!" the Doctor urged. "Where's your sense of adventure? You're young, able-bodied, relatively sound of mind, and - need I remind you - in a time machine that can take you anywhere and anywhen you want! What about roller coasters? Do you like roller coasters? Because I know of a place where-"

"Doctor," interjected Rory, cutting into his momentum. "I - I mean, we - do appreciate the thought, but I for one am still processing the whole space fish thing. I get that adventure is part and parcel of being in a place that's bigger on the inside, and I'm totally on board with that, but for the moment can't we go somewhere that's a little more, you know..." He searched for the right word, a more diplomatic word, before settling on one that bluntly said it all: "Safe?"

The Doctor stared at Rory as his enthusiasm was quickly replaced by a crestfallen defeat. Rory noticed the shift in demeanour and immediately regretted his lead balloon interruption.

"Just this once, though!" he offered, attempting to salvage the situation. "You know, ease the new boy in a bit, before you whack him with the paddle of alien hi-jinks?"

"I'll buy you an ice cream?" added Amy, also pitching in to lift the Doctor's sagging spirits.

Eyes jumping between the pair, the Doctor weighed up the options in his head. "Ice cream..." He paused, then tiptoed through his next breath. "I... know of a place where the mountains are made of ice cream?"

Simultaneously, Amy and Rory smiled, which the Doctor took as an immediate answer. "We have a winner!" he declared, raising both fists above his head in a victorious pump and instantly regaining his former energy. He rapidly flicked and twisted a new destination into the TARDIS controls. "It's a bit of a longer trip - have to loop us through the Krutahn Nebulla and back around Cyclovorp 4485 - but believe me, the Mellow Banana and Toffee Grape will make it all worth it!"

He heaved down on a lever and straightaway the TARDIS rocked with a sudden change in momentum, throwing Amy and Rory off their feet and causing them to flail desperately at each other for support. Wobbly legs and a knotted stomach meant that Rory was the one seeking extra balance, and Amy provided it as best she could. The Doctor, meanwhile, was still working the controls, seemingly charting his course on the fly as mid-trip adjustments were accompanied by jolts and jabs that rocked the three of them around like pebbles in a bottle.

Eventually the movement subsided, and the TARDIS thumped to a halt. The Doctor inspected the monitor, tapping it with a curled finger. "Close enough," he said. He continued to talk as he jaunted down the ramp towards the TARDIS doors. "Few years out, no biggie. Some of the better slopes will have melted, but on the upside, think how the rivers will taste! Here's hoping we won't have to wait until next seas-"

He opened the door but barely completed a single step outwards before stopping mid-sentence, mid-movement. Mid-thought. His hearts lunged in his chest with a cold echo at the horrible sight before him.

Dead bodies.

Dozens of dead bodies littered a brilliant white ceramic floor, surrounded by equally white walls curving up to meet a ceiling dotted with tiny nozzles. Dozens of dead bodies, slumped and draped over and into each other where gravity caused them to fall. All of them wearing the same grey uniform, their mouths all featuring the same tell-tale tendrils.

Dozens of dead bodies. All of them Ood.

They were in a room, totally enclosed, and on the far wall was a long windowed panel, its clear glass revealing what appeared to be a control room on the other side... and one very confused man staring right at the Doctor.

Somehow, he remembered to breathe.

"This..." the Doctor whispered, "...this is not ice cream."

**CHAPTER TWO COMING SOON!**


	2. Secrets and Lies

**CHAPTER 2: Secrets and Lies**

"Doctor?" asked Amy. She and Rory were already approaching the TARDIS doors. "Is everything alright?"

Still rooted to the spot mid-step, the Doctor whipped his head around to face the advancing companion. "Stay back!" he barked, eyes wide with urgency. "Stay back there!"

But curiosity carried Amy right through his orders as she sidled up beside him and craned her neck to inspect her new surroundings. And no sooner had she done so that she let out an involuntary shriek of horror.

"What is it?" asked Rory, his view now obscured by two people.

"Ood," said the Doctor simply, resigning himself to Amy's disobedience as he continued to process the sight before him. "They're Ood. A wonderful race that has-" he checked his wristwatch "-and _will_ give so much to the universe... and they're..."

_BZZZZZZZZ! BZZZZZZZZ!_

A jarring emergency siren filled the room as an intense light turned the white walls to an angry red. The Doctor looked at the windowed panel across from him to see the man behind the glass frantically barking orders into a phone, his gaze remaining firmly locked on the TARDIS intrusion before him.

"That's... not a good noise, is it?" noted Rory, almost needlessly.

"Only in Opposite Land," the Doctor replied. And then, wistfully: "I really wish I was there right now."

A sliding doorway opened up on one of the side walls, the bulky steel cross-section revealing just how thick and heavy those walls actually were. Into the room burst two human figures, clad head to toe in yellow biohazard suits equipped with oxygen tanks that fed air into enclosed helmets fitted with reflective black visors. Their faces totally masked, they rushed immediately to the TARDIS and grabbed the upper arms of the Doctor and Amy with vice-like precision, and began forcibly dragging them away from its doors.

"Oy! Let me go!" bellowed Amy, furiously resisting against her captor.

Rory noticed. "Amy! Hang on!"

"The TARDIS!" shouted the Doctor, himself being inched across the smooth floor. "Close the TARDIS!"

His jaw agog, Rory looked around frantically - the Doctor was evidently addressing him. Protective instinct for his partner took over as Rory rushed past the threshold, pulled the blue door shut behind him, and followed Amy and the Doctor as they continued to be dragged out of the room. He caught up to them just in time to have the thick steel door close with a heavy thump, enclosing all five in a second, much smaller room, barely taller than head height, that revealed itself as an airlock when sharp jets of air washed down from above and shut off again just as quickly.

Squashed against Amy and their captors, the Doctor looked around and suddenly registered Rory's presence. "What are you doing here?" he asked, clearly taken aback.

"You said close the TARDIS?" Rory replied.

He grimaced and slapped his forehead. "I meant from _them_," he said, jerking his head towards his biosuit-clad intruders. "_From_ _them_, not behind _you_! Oh, my kingdom for a human who knows when to stay put!"

A second door opened ahead of them into a pristine white corridor, and Amy and the Doctor were dragged out. As Rory followed limply behind, their captors released the pair in the presence of a man standing sternly before them, arms crossed - the same man the Doctor saw behind the glass. As stern as he was, he was clearly a dashing figure, sporting a sharp suit-and-tie combo, a Hollywood-grade jawline, pristine skin, and hair that held every strand in an immaculately combed style.

The biosuit pair stood aside as he looked the Doctor, Amy, and Rory up and down. "Who are you and how did you get in there?" he demanded.

"Well, I'll tell you," said the Doctor, straightening his bow tie, "it was a lot less painful than getting out. Your hired help's going to leave a bruise, you know."

"Smart answers aren't smart enough in this place. That's your first and last warning."

"Oh, cheer up, handsome. I promised these two ice cream - we don't even know where 'here' is."

The man cocked his head. Amy leaned in. "Men and directions," she said, deadpan. "Go figure."

A brief pause passed as the man weighed the situation in his head. Deciding whether to believe their story or their ignorance. He finally broke the silence with a piece of information: "Nhire 4. The Quercon Cluster."

"The Quercon Cluster?'' The Doctor repeated his apparent location in disbelief. "Quercon? But that's... that's on the far fringes of the universe! That's dark space! How did we get out here? It was left at Krutahn and..." He trailed off in realisation. "Oh, the wobbly lever must be acting up again. I thought I fixed that thing! Note to self: re-fix the wobbly lever."

"And who are you?" asked Amy, redirecting the conversation as she covertly took in the handsome sight before her.

The man responded in kind, for his demeanour instantly became softer, less defensive. "My name is Joseph Edwin Banks," he said, eyes locked onto hers. "CEO of Equality Enterprises and owner of the facility you're in."

"You own this place?" asked the Doctor, looking around at its spotless walls and distant doors.

"Own, built, designed," Joseph responded. "The universe's most desolate and barren planet is now the site of humanity's future."

"I'm Amy," Amy remarked, extending a hand to Joseph in greeting. Rory looked over to see his fiancée's gaze was unwavering - and if he didn't know better, he'd have used the word 'smitten'. Jarred, he attempted to none-too-subtly wedge in with a handshake of his own.

"I'm her fiancé," Rory said pointedly. "I'm her hubby-to-be."

"And I'm confused," frowned the Doctor. "You said we're on Nhire 4?"

"That's right," said Joseph.

"And this is your base?"

"Yes."

"And what was that room we were in?"

"The gas chamber."

Amy immediately withdrew her hand. "The _what_?"

"Surely you can't be surprised that we had to get you out as quick as we did," Joseph replied. "We'd just processed another faulty batch and then you two come-"

"Three," corrected Rory.

"-come whirling inside before the fumes had a chance to clear. How you got in at all is one thing, but having civilian deaths on my watch is something else altogether."

The Doctor tapped a finger against his chin. "Sorry, when you say 'faulty batch', you're talking about the Ood?"

"Correct."

He let the blasé delivery hang in the air for a moment before responding. "The Ood that you _kill_. Tell me, what's a company CEO doing in a control room ending dozens of lives at a time? Shouldn't you be up in your ivory tower throwing coffee at the interns?"

"Help is a little hard to come by around here," Joseph smirked. "We're a small operation on the edge of space, not a thriving metropolis. I lend a hand in the day-to-day business as much as the next guy."

"But _killing Ood_? What for? Fun? Friday night, nothing on the telly, 'I know, I'll just mercilessly slaughter a room full of innocent creatures and then call Bob around for a pint'?"

Joseph bristled. "Your bleeding heart has no place here, Mister...?"

"Hearts, plural. And you can call me the Doctor."

"The Doctor," he repeated. He looked at the three once again before making an internal decision. "Come with me."

He led the way down the stark white corridor and guided Amy, Rory and the Doctor through his maze-like layout, their footsteps clacking against the tiled floor as they struggled to keep up.

"Tell me, Doctor," said Joseph as he rounded a corner. "Do you like to travel?"

The Doctor smiled knowingly. "Somewhat."

"Ah, so you're familiar with the thrill of the journey. I'm an adventurer at heart, you see. I love to explore, to experience new places. But the only thing better than _seeing _a new place is to discover one for yourself. Some years ago I led an expedition into the far reaches of space, not knowing what we'd find. For too long we searched aimlessly, until one day, out of the blackness, we found this planet - Nhire 4. At first glance it seemed like just another rock: it was dry, desolate. It looked worthless."

"So what kept you here?" asked Amy.

"Bones. Buried beneath centuries of dust and sand were millions upon millions of bone fragments. Too many to catalogue, but even a cursory glance revealed they were all from the same species - one that had fallen countess eons ago. Think about that. An entire species, extinct and eroding on a planet that no-one has ever known about."

"I can only imagine," the Doctor replied.

"So we searched for answers. We dug. We excavated an area that was seemingly made of bones until we broke through into an enormous underground cavern with something that... hang on a second."

They had arrived at a locked door, which Joseph opened with a keycard from his pocket. The door slid open to reveal an opulent office, furnished with classical wooden chairs with plush crimson cushions, an ornate woven carpet, and a heavy oak desk. The décor was in stark contrast to the facility's crisp, modern white hallways, but the room itself played at right angles against the oversized screen set into one of the walls, jarring technology against tradition.

"Nice office," marvelled Rory, truly impressed by his surroundings.

"What can I say?" replied Joseph. "I like the old style." He lowered himself into a contoured yet classy swivel chair behind the desk and waved the three newcomers towards a set of seats positioned across from him. As they settled down, he picked up a remote control from the desk and pointed it at the giant screen, bringing it to life with a giant test pattern.

"We came out here, not sure what we'd find," he continued. "But that cavern, only a few miles from here, housed nothing short of a miracle. It's what you and I would describe as an underground waterfall, except..."

The image on the screen changed to reveal just what Joseph was referring to: pre-recorded surveillance footage of a natural rock formation within an expansive cave, but flowing downwards in a raging torrent was not water.

"Pure energy," the Doctor realised.

"A natural reserve of light, electrons, plasma, geoparticles, and several thousand other elements we don't even have names for. To be honest, a lot of it remains beyond our knowledge. We're not entirely sure of its composition or its origin, but we do know what it can do."

The scene changed, and what replaced it indicated a significant advancement in time - the once dark, dank cavern now housed spotlights, steel support beams, meshed walkways, and was populated by a handful of people fitted with masked biosuits similar to those worn by the earlier man-handling intruders. In the footage a crane arm gradually swung into view, and beneath it dangled a simple steel cage containing a lone Ood, outfitted in the typical grey garb complete with translation globe and obedient demeanour. It silently stood there as the crane extended the cage into the downward energy flow, and didn't react as it washed over it in a furious froth.

"You know how a prism works?" asked Joseph. "How it splits a beam of light? This energy flow works more or less the same way, but uses a lifeform as the prism." And as he spoke, the recorded video showed a distant movement: something was walking out from behind the tumbling energy curtain and out into view, standing simply and dutifully.

A second Ood.

And then, following it, a third. Then a fourth. A fifth.

"Like I said, we don't fully understand it, but the results speak for themselves. Put a living being within the energy flow and a duplicate version is created - a fully-formed, living, breathing duplicate, completely self-sustainable. The longer you leave the original sample, the more duplicates are created." And indeed, the monitor showed ten, fifteen, twenty Ood all walking out into view, standing shoulder to shoulder and awaiting instruction.

"My word," said the Doctor, genuinely gobsmacked.

Amy cocked her head. "So that wasn't many different Ood in the gas chamber, but copies of the same Ood?"

"That's right."

"And that's why you're killing them? Because you made too many?"

"No. What we discovered - and what continues to plague us today - is that the duplicates will degrade. They emerge from the procedure as totally perfect replicas, but as soon as we ship them over to our main facility they start to go... wrong. Their appearance and behaviour will fragment entirely. They become aggressive. Dangerous. We have no choice but to remove each faulty batch while we investigate the cause."

"Oh, I can tell you the cause," said the Doctor. "Red eyes, right?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"The Ood. When they become hostile, they have red eyes. 'The circle must be broken' and all that?"

Joseph shook his head. "On the contrary, Doctor. Each Ood emerges as a one-hundred percent perfect duplicate, no red eyes whatsoever. But afterwards, they're completely unusable. One theory is that the Ood biology simply cannot handle the procedure, but as it stands we're still no closer to finding out the real truth."

Rory leaned forward in his chair, curious. "Ever copied a human?"

"Of course not!" exclaimed Joseph, aghast. "That's immoral!"

"But your morals don't prevent you from mass murder at the hands of your own foolishness," retorted the Doctor. "A high-rolling chap like you needs to sort some things out if he feels the need to create a dedicated gassing room as part of his operations."

"It's painless!" Joseph declared. "They feel nothing! The state they're in, they're too far gone to even feel a crowbar to the head - and believe me, we've tried. Look, we need to continue our research, but we also need to discard of any unsuccessful results. It's simple economics."

"But to what end, exactly?" asked the Doctor, shifting in his chair. "Why invest the time and money to copy Ood at all?"

Joseph seemed to relax. "Ah," he smiled, hitting another button on the remote. "Because as much as I am an explorer, I am also a businessman."

The image on the giant screen changed from the grainy surveillance footage to a sleek, polished commercial, cutting quickly between numerous smiling families, each featuring the presence of a uniformed Ood. A peppy, cheery female voice narrated the footage.

_"Busy lifestyle? Need help around the house, office, or construction line? You need the Banks Ood! Specially engineered to the highest quality, your Banks Ood will mean more time for you!"_

The footage then depicted an Ood involved in decidedly less domestic situations: inspecting a firearm, sitting in a star fighter cockpit, and strapping on army fatigues. "_Also in production: the Banks Homeland Protection Ood, designed to keep our front lines safe and secure from threats home and beyond. Rest easy knowing your nation's borders are secured by the finest, most obedient Ood available. Never lose a loved one in armed combat again!"_

Fading into a static logo, a cartoon depiction of an Ood zoomed into view, giving a thumbs up and a cheerful wink. "_The Banks Ood_," said the glistening voice-over. "_Always there, always yours!"_

The screen cut to black, and a stunned silence hung between the Doctor, Rory and Amy. Joseph grinned proudly. "Man has always cautioned man against reinventing the wheel," he declared. "I say that man is a fool for not taking the wheel and selling a better version for a cheaper price. High society already has Ood service, but give luxury to the common people and they'll be forever in your debt. With my discovery, I can create an infinite Ood supply at zero cost and sell them at a price that undercuts the competition! And that-" he thumped the desk with a hearty fist "-is why you're staying for dinner."

Rory did a double-take. "Umm... come again?"

"Indulge me. I'm tired of the company around here. Same old faces day in, day out - who's to say we can't all enjoy a nice steak and a glass of red?"

An awkward pause filled the room, and Rory leaned over to whisper in Amy's ear. "Very James Bond villain of him, isn't it?"

"He's just trying to be nice," she whispered back.

"Oh, sure. Three people just appear out of thin air in the gas chamber of a specially-built base on a planet that no-one knows about, and you don't think there's anything suspicious about being asked to hang around for a meal."

The Doctor joined the whispered exchange. "Oh, there's plenty to be suspicious about. Plenty more things he's not telling us, too. And that's why I'm absolutely famished."

Immediately, he jumped to his feet and clasped his hands together, looking at Joseph expectantly. "Famished! Dinner! Good! A chance for us to hang around, to really get a feel for the place, and for you and I to have a good old chin-wag about all sorts of important businessy stuff. We'd love to stay. Tell me, Joseph, do you have any fish fingers?"

**CHAPTER THREE COMING SOON!**


	3. Night Trap

**CHAPTER 3: Night Trap**

A sparse white room housed a long dining table of polished wood, upon which a sleeved arm deftly placed a ceramic dish before the Doctor. He looked up to deliver his thanks, but all he could make contact with was a pair of eyes - the surrounding face was obscured by a white cap and a paper surgical mask, matching the pristine buttoned kitchen uniform. Similar service was given to Amy and Rory, sitting to the Doctor's left, and to Joseph at his right, who could only look at the Doctor's plate in equal parts amusement and bewilderment.

"I must say, you're a man of unique tastes," he noted as a small dipping bowl filled with a bright creamy substance accompanied the main dish. "Fish fingers and..."

"Custard!" beamed the Doctor. He plunged a digit into the bowl and licked up a sample. "Just the right amount of yellow, too."

Rory's gaze was trained on the kitchen hands as they softly exited the room. "Why the masks?" he asked Joseph. "Your guys look more like surgeons than cooks."

"Health and safety," he replied. "And... necessity. Any risk of illness must be minimised. Our medical supplies are limited - this far out in deep space, it'd take us months before we could get to anywhere to treat so much as a sniffle."

"You don't seem too concerned," Rory remarked, prompting a swift kick in the shin from Amy beside him. _Behave_, it clearly said. _You're making us both look foolish_.

Joseph offered a patient smile. "Sorry, I didn't get your name, Mister 'hubby-to-be'."

"It's Rory. Rory Williams."

"Mister Rory Williams. A most memorable guest who would do well not to let his food go cold so quickly."

Amy awkwardly cleared her throat and curled a length of hair around her finger. "It looks delicious," she mumbled, exchanging daggers with Rory.

"So tell me a bit more about this place," said the Doctor between energetic mouthfuls. "Looks brand new, not to mention expensive."

Joseph smiled. "Well, it wasn't cheap. Let me humbly say that my family is... one of means. I came into this world with more good fortune and opportunity that a person could wish for. It's how I was able to fund my desires to explore the stars, to experience as many of life's fruits as possible. No-one lives forever, after all - why wouldn't you want to make the most of your time?"

"And what does your wife think about all this?" asked Amy.

"Oh, I'm not married," Joseph replied. "Never found time to think about any of that stuff."

"A lone ranger!" the Doctor exclaimed. "Others would dismiss such exploits in order to live their lives, but not you! No, for you, _this_ is living!"

Joseph raised his glass. "Great minds," he smiled. "And yours is truly a great mind indeed. To just appear in a sealed room out of thin air in such a small box... and people thought I was mad when I set off into unknown space."

"Since you mentioned it," Rory interjected, "Any chance we can get back to that box? My _fiancée_ and I have, uh, got some things in there. Important things."

Joseph clasped his hands. "Things that can wait, surely. For reasons that you can no doubt appreciate, the door to that particular room is designed in a rather unique manner. Dozens of violent Ood are herded through it every day - they need to be contained, and we need to be sure that none will escape. That's why the door's controls are linked directly to the room's function - it will only open after it has undergone a full cycle, triggered from the safety of the control booth. A full release and clear. One cannot take place without the other."

"Wait, so you're saying we need to gas the room before the door will open?"

"It's a gas chamber, Mister Rory Williams, not a funpark turnstile. Security and safety are paramount - the controls are one and the same. There needs to be no doubt whatsoever that the specimens put inside are successfully processed before it can be permitted to open. And it's not 'we', but 'I' - the booth is off-limits to all but myself."

Amy looked around, wondering where this revelation put the three of them. "So... will you open it for us?" she asked eventually. "Gassing an empty room is alright in my book."

"I've got a better question," said the Doctor as he leaned in to stare at Joseph. "There's something I don't quite understand. You've not only discovered a planet on the edge of the universe that no-one knows exists, but also a natural energy reserve that duplicates living matter in a heartbeat. Yet rather than thump your chest about it to the media, you set up shop here, alone - your money, your staff, your rules. You've gone to extraordinary lengths to keep your little duplication discovery a total secret. So why in the world are you telling us about it?"

Joseph took a moment to draw a deep breath. "I must confess... I've been less than honest with my motives in asking you to share a meal with me."

"You don't say," noted Rory dryly.

He ignored the interruption and gestured to the Doctor. "You, sir. You said you're a Doctor. Our resources are lacking personnel with skills such as yourself. Despite all our years here we're still no closer to finding a solution to the malfunctioning Ood, yet we need to ensure we can produce consistently flawless copies before we can proceed with our marketing strategy. Clearly I could use your expertise, and you strike me as a man who would revel in the challenge. All I ask is that you examine one Ood body, to determine why they repeatedly reject the duplication process. That's all. Please, help me to understand. I'll ensure you're well compensated for your time.

The Doctor waved a dismissive hand. "Money's of as much interest to me as Henry the Eighth's beard trimmings. You're going to have to offer me a little more than that."

"Like what, exactly?"

"Information. You need to tell me the honest truth about what it is you're doing out here."

Joseph's expression turned blank. "I'm not sure I follow."

"You said so yourself: you're a businessman. You're looking to make money by selling cheap Ood. I get that, but to commit patent infringement in the process? If my watch is right, Ood Operations has held that copyright since 3914 - that's like going up to Lord Drummar of Sarthene and telling him to stop making marwangates because you can do it cheaper. Actually, wait, that hasn't been invented yet. Point is, you're honing in on someone else's racket. What you're doing here isn't strictly legal, is it?"

Awkward silence followed, and Joseph, for the first time, looked genuinely off-guard. "It is true," he began, "that my goals with this project impose upon the interests of another. I paid for my Ood fair and square. And not only do I resent that I had no choice on where that money went, but I also realised that you don't make money by selling to the rich few. You go mass-market, to the common man. To government bodies looking for cheap grunts requiring cheaper training. Yes, I imagine that Ood Operations will take issue at a competing product, but by the time it goes through the tape-filled maze that we comically refer to as 'the legal system', I'll have made more than enough in pure profit to settle any sort of lawsuit as easily as a speeding ticket. And by then I hope to be on to the next stage."

"The next stage?" asked Rory.

"Creating cheap Ood is just the beginning - what about copying animals? World hunger solved, endangered species saved, and more than enough left over to bring back sport hunting of old. Just think of the possibilities! Think what can be achieved with this discovery! _Instantaneous duplication of living matter_. Surely something this majestic transcends petty human arguments over 'intellectual property' this and 'copyright' that. Doctor, this isn't just a discovery that could change the universe - it could change the very nature of life itself."

Joseph leaned in to meet the Doctor's steely gaze. "And admit it... doesn't that make you curious?"

It was a challenge, a dare, and he let it dangle heavily in the room. With his best poker face, the Doctor weighed up the proposition, but found himself trying to keep it as emotionally distant as possible. _Don't get drawn into schoolyard goading,_ he reasoned. _Keep it impartial._ The trouble was, he knew the Ood. He knew what part they'd play in future-history. He knew them to be more than just simple cattle or servants - they were intelligent, wonderful beings, and this man opposite him was spawning copy after copy that would live only as long as it took to deliver them to the gas chamber. Was that it? Was it that knowledge, that protective nature, that kept him here? It certainly wasn't the prospect of helping a competitive entrepreneur break the law, which is precisely what his assistance into the matter would achieve - solve the problem, give him working Ood, and he'd be no better than the next corporate fat cat.

But then there was the energy flow. The fact that it was discovered and put to use without knowing the full extent of its effects. The spawning of violent Ood was one thing - but what if it went deeper than that? What was the process doing to the original Ood, the one being copied? What was it doing to any onlookers in the vicinity? The side effects, were they contagious? Was the energy flow really so benign? Could it, in fact, be sentient?

_Doesn't that make you curious?_

The Doctor took a deep breath. "I'll take a look," he said. "One look." His voice became stern. "But I want your guarantee that you'll abide by my assessment, however damaging it might be to your grand vision. If there's any unacceptable risk to you, your staff, the Ood, or any other lifeform as a direct or indirect result of what you're doing, expect me to intervene."

"Now you're being absurd," grumbled Joseph. "You come in here and expect to tell me what I will or won't do with my business?"

"You wanted my help, I'm offering it to you. But not for the wrong reasons."

"And who are you to decide what the wrong reasons are?"

"Look who the absurd one is now. We were gentlemen not five minutes ago and here we are arguing in the company of others?" The Doctor gestured to Rory and Amy, sitting meekly in the crossfire. "Help me help you, Joseph. I think both of us would like some answers."

A pause, then Joseph cleared his throat. "Fine." he said. "You'll begin first thing tomorrow."

Amy looked at the Doctor. The Doctor looked at Rory. Rory looked at Amy.

"You were right, Doctor. Five minutes ago we were gentlemen, so please, allow my manners to return. It's hardly polite to put a volunteer to work straight after dinner - I'd like to offer all three of you time to relax, to get some sleep. We've got plenty of spare quarters that will be more than adequate for your needs - individual quarters, however. I apologise for their segmented nature, but we don't get many visitors out here, especially ones who would require..." Joseph eyed Amy and Rory. "...co-habitation."

"Wait," fumbled Rory. "You mean we're not...?"

"You want us to stay here?" Amy asked. "For the night?"

Rory leaned over to the Doctor. "Tell me I'm not crazy," he whispered. "First dinner, now this? He's going to hack us up in our sleep."

"Oh, relax," the Doctor said. "He needs us. And let's face it, we need him. The TARDIS is in a room that only he has access to, and we're not going anywhere unless we play along. Besides..." His whisper dropped even quieter. "I _am_ a little curious."

He returned a polite smile to Joseph. "Tomorrow it is, then."

"You do me a wonderful favour, Doctor," Joseph said. "I shan't forget it. When you've finished your meals, my assistants will show each of you to your rooms. Again, I'm sorry that their design separates the three of you, but I trust that their comfort will make up for such inconveniences." He heaved a sigh that could almost be interpreted as one of happiness. "Oh, it's so good to have some new faces around here."

* * *

><p>It was no good. Hours later, he still couldn't sleep.<p>

Bathed in darkness, Rory lay in bed and stared up at the piped ceiling above him. He thumped the mattress in frustration - it wasn't right, he fumed. None of it. That Joseph character, he was nothing but sleaze in a suit - he could see it, even if the others couldn't. Well, the Doctor never seemed tuned into that sort of stuff, but Amy? He expected better. Amy. His own fiancée, so easily taken in by a cheeky smile and an inherited wallet. He'd have felt jilted if he didn't miss her so much.

That was the other thing - this forced isolation highlighted just how big a hole her presence filled in his life. Yes, he realised, he definitely missed her. He definitely loved her.

He definitely wanted to be with her.

A moment lingered before Rory threw off the covers and lowered his bare feet to the tiled floor, instantly feeling its cool surface. He padded his way across the room to the door, triggering the handle which caused it to slide open with an almost silent pneumatic hiss. Poking his head out, he was greeted with total emptiness - the hallways of the base were vacant, lit only by a handful of simple caged light bulbs intermittently dotted overhead. The bare minimum of light required, he realised. Dim, but not overwhelmingly so.

Satisfied that he was alone, Rory slipped out into the corridor and silently wandered down its lengths, looking left and right for signs of a room similar to his own. Not knowing where Joseph had set Amy - or the Doctor, for that matter - made things difficult, a fact that dawned on him when each passing doorway looked more or less the same as the one before it. What was he going to do, knock on each one? Blunder into a room that could be anything from the broom closet to an airlock? Or Joseph's own quarters? Now that would be awkward. Door after door, he ran his fingers through his hair in exasperation - no starting points, but plenty of options. Blind luck. The process of elimination. Each seemed just as valid as it was aimless. But he had to do something.

Cautiously, Rory approached the nearest upcoming door and pressed an ear to its surface, listening for signs of life. He held his breath. It was hard to tell through the thick metal, but it sounded like... beeping. Soft, rhythmic beeping. Then, the sound of restless stirring. A cough.

The beeping persisted.

Nervousness was gradually replaced with curiosity, and Rory gently lifted the latch of the door, triggering it to slide open. His eyes slowly adjusted to the near-total darkness within as he stepped forth, studying his new surroundings. The room was of a similar size and layout to his own, but in the middle was a something unmistakable. A hospital bed was positioned amid an array of blinking machines and equipment - the source of the beeps, which continued to emit from one of the devices. Multiple cables snaked from one machine to the next, and various valves and rotors ticked away in continuous motion. A bag of clear fluid hung from a nearby stand, with many others looming overhead. Everything, Rory noticed, was somehow interconnected, linked to work together. To feed information back and forth. And every piece of equipment was in some way plugged into-

He peered inwards, then coiled back. Lying on the hospital bed, covered by a simple white sheet, was a fragile human figure practically pin-cushioned by the many cables and cords that stemmed from each machine. The figure appeared restless, weak. It didn't register Rory's presence as it gasped for air, fighting with each laboured breath. As Rory studied further, he could see wrinkles, liver spots. Patchy grey hair. Stubble. Tumours.

An old man, he realised. An extremely old man. One who looked incredibly sick, and appeared to be dying with each passing second.

Gathering himself, Rory slowly approached the bedside. "Hello?" he ventured. "Are you alright? I can help - I'm a nurse."

The man's movements gradually petered out, sagging him into the bed. Immediately, a flat buzzing tone sounded from one of the machines - a sound that registered to Rory's ears as one of urgent alarm: a flat-lining patient. He looked over to see a blinking red light - on, off, on, off - and another device come to life nearby. Small pistons began to move as some sort of clear liquid was fed through a number of transparent tubes that were burrowed deep into the man's skin, and as it did so, his body made a sudden, violent jolt, his back arching clear off the mattress and shaking the steel framework of the support frame below. The sheet was thrown enough for Rory to see two flat paddles fixed to the man's chest - paddles that he clearly recognised as variants of a hospital defibrillator. Again, the man jerked upwards as currents of electricity - who knew how powerful - were delivered, and dropped down again as they stopped. Suddenly, his eyes bolted open and his mouth gaped in a hollow "O" as his elderly lungs took a sharp intake of air, and then another. He coughed long and deep, and his gasping resumed as the pistons stopped their movements, ceasing the flow of liquid through the tube. The buzzing tone disappeared and the room's sounds fell into a stark emptiness, save for his intermittent laboured breaths and that same, steady machine beep.

_Beep... beep... beep.._.

Rory's gaze was unwavering as he took in the horrid sight before him. What was this? Treatment? Punishment? A bizarre mix of both? Barely allowing himself to blink, he slowly backed away from the machines, from the bed. He inched towards the door and, feeling for the handle, opened it before stowing out into the light.

* * *

><p>Ambient light softly fell onto Amy's delicate features as she turned in her sleep. Perhaps it was the sum total of her TARDIS-related adventures, for her body wholeheartedly welcomed the opportunity to relax and recharge. Totally at peace, she stirred only slightly when the door to her room opened from the outside, the intruding light drifting into her consciousness.<p>

Footsteps approached, and she lazily opened her eyes as a dark silhouette strode towards her. It began to register - alertness kicked in, and Amy sat herself up in the bed.

"Hey, what are you-"

She was instantly cut off by a forceful hand that clamped over her mouth, pressing a damp cloth over her airways that smelled strange, almost sweet. Amy's panicked breaths only served to inhale the noxious fumes deep into her lungs, but she struggled against them with furious poundings on her assailant's arms. Red dots began to swim over her eyes and the world seemed to drift into slow-motion, and the slower it went, the more distant she felt from it, like she was observing a faraway place from the bottom of a vast, deep ocean. Deeper, she fell, and as the blackness closed in her body dropped, limp.

No-one heard.

**CHAPTER FOUR COMING SOON!**


	4. Face to Face

**CHAPTER 4: Face to Face**

Artificial light bathed the halls of the complex, creating a "morning" environment within its closed structure and returning it to a steady flow of activity. As masked personnel wandered to and fro, a door slid open against one of the walls. Straightening his jacket, the Doctor stepped out from his room into the bustling hallway and heaved a most satisfied sigh - one that came from an incredibly well-rested body. He looked around, raised a licked finger to the air to gather his bearings, and marched forth, whistling merrily as he did so.

He rounded a corner and was practically bowled over by a frantic, hurried, and somewhat dishevelled shape. Gathering his balance, he examined the culprit.

"Rory!"

His hair was a mess, his face one of worry, and he appeared to still be in the midst of his search. The Doctor, of course, was oblivious to all of it.

"They gave me a bed!" he exclaimed. "A proper bed! With a mattress and sheets and one of those squishy pillows that keep the shape of your head! Honestly, I've no idea why you humans are always so highly strung - a few hours in one of those bad boys and you're right as rain!"

No reaction. He studied Rory. "Are you alright?"

"Amy," he heaved, almost tumbling through his words. "I tried to find Amy during the night... I searched up and down... I couldn't find her."

"Well, searching up and down can safely eliminate all ceilings and floors," the Doctor replied, still wrapped up in his good mood. "So well done on that one."

"Doctor!" Rory's voice became urgent, demanding. "I'm serious!"

"And I'm just trying to be amusing. Misplaced does not mean vanished, Rory - are you sure you checked every room?"

"Yes." A pause. "I think. Maybe. This place is confusing - it's hard to tell."

The Doctor nodded. "Good thing we ran into each other then. Well, it's more you running into me. But never fear - I saw what room Joseph put Amy in, and despite the rabbit-warren layout, I know how to get there. Come along, grumpy sacks." He started walking, and a stunned Rory had to shake himself back to reality in order to keep up.

"So what did you find?" the Doctor asked.

"Sorry?"

"You've been up all night by the looks of it. Searching from room to room - you must have seen _something _interesting. Something that can help explain what's really going on here."

"No, nothing." Rory paused, and remembered. "But there was this one room..."

"Yes?"

"An old man. Old and weak. He was hooked up to some kind of life support system, gasping and wheezing for breath. Riddled with tumours. He was on the very verge of death, but those machines... they kept bringing him back."

"Well, that's a good thing, isn't it? Helping the sick?"

Rory shook his head. "There's treatment, and there's torture. You might call yourself the Doctor, but believe me, this wasn't any sort of medical help, and that man was way beyond sick. It's like he... he was being forced to live."

Before the Doctor could respond, a door opened in the distance and a limp figure fell to the floor, wavy red hair spilling forth like a frayed curtain. Rory's eyes went wide.

"Amy!"

He rushed towards her, the Doctor in tow, and he bent to hold her in his arms. Her head lolled on her neck as she looked around listlessly, clearly disoriented. The Doctor crouched to her side, produced his sonic screwdriver and gave her a quick scan, looking at the device for a verdict. "She's been drugged."

"Dizzy..." Amy mumbled.

"What happened?" urged Rory.

Amy furrowed her brow as she tried to recall. "Someone... someone came into my room. During the night. Held something over my mouth... and then... I can't remember. I woke up here."

"Who came in? Did you see?"

She shook her head. "Too dark... I couldn't tell..."

The Doctor's mouth tightened in determination. "I think there's someone here who can." He stood up and straightened his jacket before looking down at Rory. "Stay with her."

"Why, where are you going?"

The Doctor was already moving. "To have a word with Mister Joseph Boss Man."

Amy tried to lift herself from the floor. "Let me come with you. Please."

"You're in good hands there," called the Doctor over his shoulder. And to Rory: "The best."

Rory nodded in response as the Doctor rounded a corner, striding up the hallways and past the bustling crews of masks and uniforms. White lab coats, hazmat suits, janitor uniforms... no matter where he looked or who he passed, each person was fitted with some kind of mask or helmet. At the most all he could see were eyes, and each pair appeared to be looking at him very carefully. Suspiciously. He tried to keep his own gaze straight ahead as he continued on his path.

Behind him, he heard footsteps - soft, irregular. The Doctor looked behind him to see a frail Amy staggering towards him, arms outstretched in desperate longing. "Doctor," she gasped, "Please..."

He went up to her and allowed Amy to support her weight on his shoulder. "I said stay with Rory," he said. He shook her head. "Never mind, you're here now. Come on, nice and easy. I've got you." The Doctor put an arm around her waist as he helped Amy take careful, deliberate steps across the floor. Clearly, she wanted to be a part of this confrontation - to face her possible attacker in spite of her own weakness. Perhaps that was a good thing, the Doctor reasoned. Perhaps.

"Someone came in..." Amy gasped.

"Yes, they did," the Doctor replied. "And we're going to sort it out. You and I. Look, we're here."

They were facing a door which they both recognised from their earlier visit as belonging to Joseph's office - this time, however, it was slightly ajar. A small red light blinked on the nearby card reader, and the Doctor looked through to the open crack into the room beyond. Through the vertical sliver he could see what had happened to the once-immaculate room, and after taking a moment to assess the risks, he slowly pushed the door open.

Destruction greeted them. Books were thrown from their shelves and strewn all across the floor. Chairs were upturned. Loose pages were torn, crumpled, and shredded from a violent hand; on one of the walls the Doctor could see bloodied scratch marks. Cushions were torn open, their fillings spilled from corner to corner, and fragments of the carpet had been ripped up. Total mayhem. And save for the breathing, total silence.

The Doctor cautiously led Amy forward. At the far end of the room, at that heavy oak desk, was a single chair, its back turned towards them. And even though it was facing away, it was clear that a single person was sitting in it, breathing deep, rapid breaths. The breaths of someone who'd just run a marathon, or had torn up their own office in a seething, furious rage.

"Joseph," the Doctor ventured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Joseph, is that you?"

The breathing continued. Fast. Forceful.

Then, a grunt.

"Joseph, it's the Doctor. I've got Amy with me." He tiptoed closer. Slowly. Carefully. "Can we talk with you?"

Another grunt.

"What's happened here? What did you do?"

The chair moved as its occupant shifted in the seat. "_Doooo...?_" The voice sounded confused, agitated. Deep. Again, the Doctor inched closer, his feet drifting through dozens of loose book pages. He could feel Amy's hand trembling in his own.

"Joseph, you're not well. I'd like to help you."

"_Helllllllp...?_"

The chair moved again, a little more this time. On the arm rest, the Doctor could see a hand, the tips of its fingers bleeding and raw. He gulped, now unsure of their safety. He stopped moving, and took a moment to assess his next move.

"_Helllllllp...?_" That guttural voice was practically clawing its way through each sound, yet sounded almost unsure of how to speak. "_Doc...toooor... wannnntsssss... toooo... hellllllp?_"

Amy started to pull away, finding some reserves of strength to help save her. "We should go," she urged.

Angrily, violently, the chair turned around, and the occupant immediately stood and crouched on the desk, as though ready to pounce. The Doctor and Amy recoiled in horror - the once immaculate suit had shreds torn into it, tattering the cloth and smearing it with the blood of its wearer. Hair that was once tidily combed now hung wild and greasy down into equally wild eyes. But it was the face that terrified them the most - the face, identifiable as that of Joseph Edwin Banks, but hanging limply from the bones beneath. Each feature - eyes, mouth, nose, ears - seemed to be partially melted, sagging. Deformed. Like an ice cream left out in the sun.

Hot, angry breath seethed through gritted teeth. "_DOC...TOOOOR... WANNNNTSSSSS... TOOOO... HELLLLLLP?" _he barked viciously.

Sparked into action, Amy now found the strength to start urgently pulling on the Doctor's arm. "Let's go!"

Remaining as steady as his nerves could allow, the Doctor reached his free hand into his jacket pocket and produced his sonic screwdriver, aiming it at the spectacle before him and scanning it up and down. "Joseph," he said carefully. "If there's still some part of you there, you need to listen to me." He flicked up the screwdriver, but a loud, deep roar from Joseph prevented him from inspecting the results. Amy screamed. "Doctor! Now!"

"Yes..." the Doctor whispered, still processing the horrific sight - still working through what Joseph had become. "Yes, we should go."

Instantly, they both turned and ran towards the open door behind them, just as Joseph pounced off his desk and landed on all fours, using his arms to immediately push him to his feet and propel him forth at a maddening pace. The Doctor and Amy crossed the threshold and quickly pushed the door closed, and the Doctor aimed his sonic screwdriver at the card reader, causing it to lock with a satisfying click and an electronic beep. As it did so, the door moved as Joseph's powerful force thudded against it from the other side, and Amy and the Doctor backed away, their eyes locked on its movements as angry growls accompanied violent pounding.

"Doctor, what was that?" Amy asked, breathless.

"That," he replied, "is some kind of violent shadow of..." The Doctor trailed off. A pause. "Surely not. But obviously he did. But why is this...?" His mind jumped back and forth as he mentally arranged the pieces that were now falling into place.

The Doctor turned to Amy. "You heard what Joseph said to us earlier. About the Ood. The duplication process at the energy flow doesn't work properly - copies emerge fine, but once they're shipped here they become unstable. Violent, unhinged. And I'd say that what we saw was pretty unhinged. Joseph - the real Joseph, wherever he is - has copied himself."

Amy shook her head. "But he said he'd never copied a human before. Rory asked him, point-blank."

"Well then," said the Doctor with a shrug, "I guess you've met the first CEO in the universe who never lies."

He led her away from the door, still taking a pounding from the other side. "There's something about this place," he mused. "Duplicates only turn violent once they're in this particular building, but why? Something in the ventilation system? Something in the coffee? And why now? That Joseph was fine yesterday, but now... I don't get it - what is it about this specific location that makes them-"

"Doctor!"

A familiar voice called out from down the hall. Ahead of them, he could see Rory, already walking towards him and Amy, but helping along...

Amy?

The Doctor's eyes bulged. "_What?_"

Rory approached them, clutching Amy to his side and looking just as confused. "What?"

And once all four were eye to eye with each other, Rory looked at Amy standing next to the Doctor, and the Doctor looked at Amy standing next to Rory. Amy and Amy, the exact mirror images of each other, were frozen in disbelief, but both managed to move their mouths just enough to form one simple word, and they said it in unison:

"WHAT?"

Silence hung in the air for a moment as everyone tried to make sense of the situation. "Amy?" asked the Doctor.

"Yes?" they both answered. Rory's Amy looked at her duplicate. "_I'm_ Amy."

"No, I am," replied the Amy standing next to the Doctor.

"You can't be."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm me. I know I'm me."

"So do I. I've always been me. Amelia Pond from Leadworth, engaged to Rory Williams - that guy right there - and had a TARDIS crash-land in her backyard when she was seven."

"But... but those are _my _memories. You're _not _me! And you're _not _engaged to him!"

The Doctor put a hand between the pair. "Okay, settle down, Amy. Err, you too, Amy." They both cast an annoyed look at him as his brow furrowed in concentration. "Right, so... a duplication. That's obvious. Same looks, same memories. And it's obvious that's the reason why someone came into your room in the night; they wanted another you. But why - what's the reason? Joseph has already duplicated himself - he already knows how the process works on a human, so it's not as if he needed you as a test subject."

"I'm not some kind of lab rat," said the Amy at Rory's side.

"Sorry," Rory cut in. "But which one is the real Amy here?"

"Me!" each Amy replied simultaneously.

The Doctor pinched the bridge of his nose between two frustrated fingers. "Okay, this is getting us nowhere. Amy - both of you - you're coming with us while I figure this out. I need to get to the energy flow - I need to see it for myself, to learn more about it. Maybe that way we can understand how it works, why duplicates fail at seemingly random intervals, why they fail in this particular location, why Amy was copied at all... and why is it suddenly so quiet in here?"

The four held their breath as they looked around at the Doctor's question. Indeed, the normally bustling facility had dropped to a near-silent level, the only sound coming from the reverberating echo of the Doctor's last word. As it faded down the hallway, they could see various members of staff had stopped dead in their tracks, frozen. A masked janitor had paused mid-mop, while a scientist writing on a clipboard was captured mid-word. Cautiously, the Doctor left Rory and the two Amys and ventured towards the inaction. As he got closer he could see that each individual was indeed still, but not altogether frozen - they were still breathing, slight muscle twitches on visible patches of skin suggested that they were gradually regaining control of their limbs... and their eyes. Their eyes were still moving. As the Doctor moved, each set of eyes followed him, step for step. Not allowing him to escape their gaze.

The Doctor stopped to face a twitching kitchen-hand. The mask over his mouth softly bellowed and deflated with each breath, a long strand to the side fastening it to his head with a simple knot. Despite himself, the Doctor's hand slowly ventured upwards to that strand, his fingers closing delicately around it as he gave it a soft pull, causing the knot to untie. The mask fell freely to the floor, revealing what the Doctor had barely allow himself to entertain: facial features that had begun to sag downwards, hanging off from limp skin.

The facial features of Joseph Edwin Banks.

Instantly, the Doctor pulled his hand away. He looked down at the rest of the personnel lining the hallway - they were starting to regain motion now, with some clawing at their faces to remove the masks that were apparently beginning to frustrate them. One by one, the Doctor could see it unveiled: sagging faces, all of them belonging to the same man. Everyone - from janitor to mechanic to the CEO himself - was a duplicate, and every single one of them was looking straight at the Doctor.

Genuine fear ignited his heels, and the Doctor bolted back towards both Amys and Rory. "Run!" he bellowed, and as the four of them fled, the entire hallway of volatile duplicates started to move freely, their sagging mouths opening in roars of rage as they turned and gave pursuit. The Doctor led Rory and the two Amys around a corner, down another hallway, then instantly stopped when they realised that it too was filled with duplicated personnel who were beginning to turn hostile. "Back, back, back!" gasped the Doctor, and they sped down into a T-junction, looking for the best way to go.

Seeing an open door, they immediately rushed towards and through it, and once inside, Rory's hand thumped down on the button that caused it to slide shut. With no windows to be seen anywhere, he recognised it as his own sleeping quarters, his bed sheets still cast off and strewn as he had left them earlier in the night. He shook his head in bemusement. _Figures_, he thought.

The Doctor put a finger to his lips, silently shushing the group. He pressed his ear to the door as he assessed the action outside. A horde of irregular thumping footsteps got louder, then softer. Guttural, primal barks faded away. The stampede, it seemed, had passed them by.

A sigh of relief, and the Doctor turned to face those among him. "Everyone okay?"

They all nodded, though despite the near-death revelations, it was clear that an uncomfortable cloud still hung between the two Amys, with neither one willing to give an inch to the other.

Rory motioned to the door, to what had just happened beyond. "Those people," he said, still panting. "They were all the same."

The Doctor only nodded in the affirmative.

"They were all him. All of them. But he said he'd never cop-"

"Yeah, people lie," interrupted the Doctor sharply. "What they say and what they do are rarely the same thing."

Taken aback, Rory could only look at the Doctor, and immediately he regretted his tone. He put a hand on Rory's shoulder. "Look," he offered. "I'm sorry about getting you into this. All of you." He addressed each Amy, in an effort to ensure that the real one - whichever one that was - was included, and that there were no ill seeds planted towards the duplicate.

The Doctor ran his fingers through his hair. "An entire base filled with malfunctioning copies of a single man, all of them angrier than a maths teacher on exam day. God, I'm so _thick _- I should have realised by now. Of _course _everyone's wearing masks - that line about preventing illness was pure codswallop. A remote facility where everyone's face is your own; you'd go mad looking at yourself all day. Makes sense to have it covered up. But there are still so many other hows and whys we don't know yet. I mean... okay, every single being in this place is out for our blood, so how-"

"Not everyone," said Rory.

"What?"

"Not everyone's like that. There's the old man I saw. Remember?"

The Doctor's face went through a multitude of expressions as he gauged what this could mean. "Of course... the old man. He looked different, right? He wasn't like them?"

"Believe me, he's the total opposite of them."

"Then he just might be the key to all of this. We need to find him." The Doctor looked at Rory square in the eye. "Can you be incredibly awesome and amazing and come with me while a swarm of rampant, violent Josephs hunts us down?"

He shrugged. "Do I have a choice?"

"Not really, but it's nice to think so. Now come on. We need to see a man about a horde."

**CHAPTER FIVE COMING SOON!**


	5. The Chain of Command

**CHAPTER 5: The Chain of Command**

The Doctor steeled himself as his fingers inched towards the door's latch. Knowing the savage threat that existed beyond seemed to make those fingers fight to resist their orders, and a tense moment passed before they finally made contact. He turned to Rory. "Ready?"

Rory gestured to the two Amys in response. "What about them?"

There they stood, side by side, but crossed arms and angled shoulders suggested that each of them would rather be anywhere else than in the other's presence. The Doctor looked at the pair and shrugged.

"Stay. Talk. Swap some stories. Though given they've both got the same memories, that might get boring pretty quick. Still, that's beside the point - ladies, you're safe right here."

One Amy curled her lip at the other. "You want me to stay with her? You're out of your head!"

The other Amy sneered. "I'd rather take my chances out there than with someone pretending to be me."

The Doctor sighed, exasperated. "Yes, let's start this again. No ifs or buts, though - you're staying put. Both of you. Just don't scratch each other's eyes out and you'll be fine."

"Can't we take them with us?" asked Rory.

"That's a bit morbid, isn't it? What would you want with four eyes, apart from two sets of glasses?"

"I don't mean their eyes. I mean, them. We could, you know, look after them?"

An Amy leaned her head forward in a transparent gesture of pseudo-secrecy. "A chivalrous and totally innocent idea, I'm sure."

The other Amy looked at the two, aghast. "Oi!" she exclaimed. "If you're me, I'm you, and I know what you're thinking - so get away from my fiancé!"

The Doctor stepped in. "Okay, I can see where this is going. Change of plans - since you're not going to let this she-said-she-said thing go, you're both coming with us. Yes, I know, stupid idea, and one that'll most likely kill the four of us rather than just two-"

Rory's eyes bulged.

"-but if that's what it'll take to shut each of you up, then bring on the Bankses!" He leaned in to Rory. "Don't worry about that 'kill' stuff. Had to make it sound dramatic." A pause. "Which, I suppose it is. And I suppose they might. Anyway. Babbling won't get us out of this room, will it." The Doctor turned his attention back to the door and took a deep breath. "Come on, let's do this."

Rory looked at the two Amys, both seemingly silenced between them. He still couldn't believe it - they looked exactly the same. Exactly. Right down to the finest detail, the smallest mannerism. Everything that the original Amy was, the duplicate was, too. He let his eyes float from one to the other, making a conscious effort to avoid weighing attention too heavily on one, lest it upset the other. "Let's stick together," he said. And then, pointedly: "All of us."

_Click!_ The Doctor flicked the latch and the pneumatic door slid open. He cautiously poked his head out into the stark white hallway, looked left then right. Nothing. No movement, no sound. Save for the ambient humming of the dim light bulbs overhead, the base was dead silent.

Even so, the Doctor's gaze remained on alert. He beckoned the three with a flick of his wrist, and they joined him at the door's threshold, muscles tensed and ready to move. "Go!" the Doctor whispered, and immediately all of them darted down the corridor, keeping their bodies close to the wall as they rounded a corner, then another.

"Which way?" the Doctor asked Rory.

"Left here, past his office," he replied.

"Past his _office_?"

"Past _who__'__s_ office?" an Amy whispered from behind.

What greeted them served as answer enough. Showing obvious signs of stress and force battered upon it from the other side, the four found themselves facing the door to Banks' personal office, with the Doctor taking distinct measures to distance himself as far away from it as possible. Rory looked perplexed.

"What happened here? Why is the door all... bulgy?"

"Banks Prime," the Doctor said. "The man himself is... not himself. Best we stay out of his way altogether."

A booming force thundered against the door, flexing it sharply outwards. A strangled growl. Another thud. The Doctor stared to back away.

"And I suggest we start now."

A final assault caused the door to explode open in a fragmented shower. Amid the carnage, the bedraggled spectacle of Joseph Banks - eyes wild, hair limp, face scratched with deep claw marks - stood in a pounce-like stance, heaving like a rabid animal. He gargled a guttural bark from deep within his lungs - any semblance of man had long left his body; this was an untamed beast looking for blood.

The Doctor was intent on not shedding his, and broke into an immediate run. "Now!"

They didn't need to be asked twice. Rory and the two Amys followed behind him on furious heels, and right behind them, Joseph maintained frightening speed. A quick-thinking Amy, seeing an approaching medical cart positioned against a corridor wall, flung it out behind her and into Joseph's path, but it merely caused him to stumble. The clutter brought him to his knees for only the briefest of moments as he maintained momentum on all fours before returning the pursuit on two legs. He snarled through heaving breaths. Rapid. Relentless. There seemed to be no stopping him; only efforts to delay him.

"Straight ahead!" shouted Rory. "It's the door straight ahead!"

The Doctor hurled himself towards the approaching latch with an extended arm, flicking it upwards as soon as his fingers made contact. "Inside! Quick!" Even as it slid open the four scrambled to get inside, and the moment they were, the Doctor pulled the latch again to close. His pulse swelled in his throat as he looked through the gradually sliding gap to see Joseph charging forth - the door seemed to take forever, and he drew closer, and closer, and closer...

The door kept sliding. Closer.

A furious roar. Closer.

A heavy thud. The Doctor squeezed his eyes shut, not daring to look.

And then, nothing.

An uncomfortable moment passed before the Doctor cautiously opened a crack of eyelid. The door had shut completely. They were safe. Out of breath and nerves shaken to breaking point, but safe.

"Hah!" the Doctor laughed nervously. "The thrill of the chase, huh? Even more thrilling when you're the one being chased! Is everyone alright?"

Rory and the two Amys nodded in the affirmative. One Amy pointed at the door. "Will that hold?"

"It might not need to," noted the Doctor, pressing his ear to its surface. "It sounds like... he's gone."

"Gone?"

"Well, not 'vanished' gone - that'd be one heck of a party trick - but it seems like he's given up on lil' ol' us. You saw how he broke out, yet here we are with a perfectly intact door and four perfectly intact selves."

"I don't get it," said an Amy, brow furrowed. "Why doesn't he want to come in here?"

Rory pointed into the room. "Maybe it's because of him."

All three looked to his target, and it was only then that they heard the beeping. A rapid, high-pitched beeping - one clearly designed to attract attention or alarm - was coming from one of the multitude of machines gathered around a single bed, and on that bed lay a wrinkled, withered body. Flailed limbs had strewn a simple bedsheet so wildly that it barely covered anything, revealing equal amounts of mottled skin and festering tumours.

"This is the man I saw last night," said Rory as he approached the array - slowly at first, then urgently. Bedside, he pressed two fingers to the underside of the man's jaw, feeling for a pulse, but the beeping from the life support machine said it all.

"He's... dead."

The Doctor rushed to the bed, sonic screwdriver in hand. Even without it, there was no doubt - the man's chest remained still, lifeless. His glassy eyes stared up into nothingness, a puckered mouth hung agape to expose yellowed teeth. And those tumours - they were everywhere. Arms, hands, chest, legs. His elderly body, completely ravaged with sickness.

As Rory reached up to gently switch the machine off, the Doctor activated the sonic. "Who is he?" he asked, scanning the body up and down.

"I don't know," said Rory. "If I were to guess, I'd say maybe he's Joseph's father. About the right age, similar features. Maybe his only relative, which might explain the effort to install all this medical equipment to keep him here." He paused, shook his head in disbelief. "You should have seen him, Doctor. Each breath was a desperate gasp; he was practically dying when I found him. But these machines kept bringing him back. He'd be dead long ago if it weren't for them. It was as though he was... being forced to live."

The Doctor flicked the screwdriver up to read the results. He looked puzzled, and immediately flicked it down and up again, as if to check for a mistake. "Time of death is only a few hours ago," he said, frowning. "But here's where it gets pear-shaped. Rory, say again: who do you think this man is?"

"Joseph's father?"

"Right, and on any other day I'd say 'yes, fair enough, makes sense,' and off we'd go to play Boggle. But I scanned Banks Prime in his office, right when he turned all growly-snarly, and his DNA signature is identical to the DNA signature of this man. Sure, you'd expect some genetic similarities from father to son, but this isn't just a hereditary match, this is one hundred percent identical. The exact same DNA, down to the last G."

"Wait a minute," said an Amy, stepping up to better inspect the body. "You're saying that the old man in this bed is..."

"The original Joseph. Yes. Seems the man we first met, the schmoozy guy with the plush office, was just another copy. The man right here... this is, or was, the real Joseph Banks."

All four took a moment to look down at the festering, elderly wretch before them; poles apart from the smooth suit and killer smile that greeted them when they arrived.

Rory shook his head. "But it doesn't make sense. This man's at least eighty or ninety years old. The duplicates out there are, what, mid-thirties? Why are they so much younger?"

"Why doesn't the subject of a photograph age with that person?" The Doctor tapped a finger to his temple as one thought rapidly linked to another, and he writhed in revelatory glee. "Come on, humans! Look at the evidence! The man in the bed? The copies he spawned? They're younger because that's how old Joseph was when he created them! Duplicates remain in genetic stasis. For the original person, life goes on - he gets old and wrinkly and things start to smell and fall off, but the spin-offs remain minty fresh."

"That line from the promo reel," an Amy noted, snapping her fingers. "'Always there, always yours.' A duplicate is 'always there' because it doesn't age."

"But then," the Doctor said, "there's the question of all this." He looked around the room at the multitude of machines that surrounded the frail figure. "Why go to so much effort to keep the original person alive when, clearly, he's seen better days?"

Rory studied the tumour-riddled body before him, slightly needled by the Doctor's words. _Come__on,__humans._ He wracked his brain, determined to link the pieces - determined to show that he could. The answer was there, somewhere. The machines; what about them? They were all working to keep alive a man whose body had long since given up, making him live longer than he had any natural right to. A dying body that housed a still-conscious mind.

_Time of death is only a few hours ago..._

_Only a few hours..._

"It was him!"

The Doctor, Amy, and the other Amy all looked at Rory, the stunned silence that ensued only served to highlight the volume of his exclamation. "I'm sorry?" said the Doctor.

"The copies," he said, this time slightly more composed. "The copies of Joseph. They only started to decay when the original Joseph died. His body had long gone, but his mind was the glue that held the copies... together..." He trailed off, unsure of whether or not he believed his own words.

The Doctor, on the other hand, was rolling them around in his head; taking apart each link, examining it, and putting it back together. "Mr Williams," he said. "That's not half bad." He punctuated with a hearty thump to Rory's back, catching him off-guard, and began to pace the room as he explored the scenario. "Life's a tricky thing to get right, especially when you're an energy flow in an underground cave on a planet that no-one knows exists. So you go with what works - you rely on a psychic link to the original lifeform in order to power each copy. Kill the link, kill conscious thought, and you're left with beings that can only fall back to their most primal, innate urges." He paused, rewound a few steps. "Or maybe it's deeper than that. The energy flow can only replicate matter, not life itself. Not in the truest sense of the word, anyway. If there's such a thing as a soul - and I'm not saying there is, but if there is - maybe it's beyond its capabilities. Either way..." The weight of the situation seemed to suddenly press upon him from above; the Doctor's shoulders visibly slumped as he heaved a resigned sigh. "Dozens of speeding cars, with no-one behind the wheel. And we're right in the middle of the crash."

No-one said anything. No-one could. And it was in that moment of silence that one of the two Amys heard an almost inaudible shuffling. The faintest movement of one surface against another. She turned her head around the room, looking for the source of the sound. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. True to form, the Doctor's mind didn't seem to register; he was still lost in thought, his face one of concern. "There's still something that doesn't add up," he mused.

"Doctor," said Amy.

"The source needs to be kept alive in order to sustain the copies... but what about the-"

"Doctor!"

He turned his head to see the alerted Amy cupping a hand behind her ear: _Listen._

He stopped mid-breath, and he heard it too: a repeated shuffling noise, now growing in volume, that seemed to come from no direction in particular, yet every direction at once. Rory and the second Amy were similarly puzzled, and all four scanned the room for its source.

"What is that?" Rory asked. "And where?"

The room offered no answers - not until they heard the creaking. And this time, the origin was unmistakable. The Doctor's blood ran cold as he craned his neck to look at the ceiling, and saw that the white panels above were moving intermittently downward from a force exerted from above. But the weight was too much, and in what seemed like slow-motion the panels began to crack, peppering dust onto the floor as the Doctor started to back away.

"One of these days," he said, "humans will have evolved beyond the need for poorly secured ventilation ducts."

_CRASH!_ The ceiling panels collapsed as a torrent of powder, debris and tattered bodies rained down from above. Rory, the two Amys and the Doctor pressed against the wall as a pile of Joseph copies - each still wearing the attire of their assigned duties - landed sickeningly atop one another, writhing with laboured movement. Their hunt had not stopped; they'd found a way in - and as soon as a Joseph near the bottom of the stack made eye contact with the Doctor, it heaved a guttural groan that instantly alerted the rest.

The Doctor looked among his companions, eyes wide. "Why is no-one running for their lives? Get out of here!"

They opened the door and spilled back back into the hallway, and with his sonic screwdriver, the Doctor aimed at the latch, causing it to elicit a high-pitched tone and sending a small plume of smoke billowing out from the mechanism inside. With the door locked, the Doctor sprinted ahead to lead the group down the hallway and back to the battered doors of Joseph's office.

"They just won't stop," said a breathless Amy, looking back over her shoulder.

"With the host signal dead, they're just ids on legs," the Doctor replied. "They're pack animals."

"But what about the original Joseph?" asked Rory. "Not the 'original' original - the one we first met. The one who did..." He motioned to what remained of the office doors. "...this."

"Yes." The Doctor frowned. "That one's a worry. He wasn't back there, which means he's somewhere around here. The lone wolf, still on the loose."

An Amy gave the Doctor a wry smile. "I didn't know the TARDIS picked up so many nature documentaries."

The other Amy cast a blackened gaze over her double. "You're making jokes at a time like this? We're in the middle of a feeding frenzy here, in case you haven't noticed!"

"Hey, I was just trying to lighten the mood." She paused. "_Wannabe __me_."

"Why you-"

The Doctor stepped in between the two, putting a hand on each Amy's head and forcing their gaze to his. "You two. Ginge and Ginger. Take a bit of shush and times it by a billion. That's how much shush I want from each of you right now. Two billion bits of shush, plus whatever bits of shush you've got hidden down the back of the couch." He let his words sit for a moment as he looked from one Amy to the other, then back again. Then, inexplicably, his eyes wandered beyond them to the destroyed office doors, a mess of fragments and shards. Lightning fast, a plan formed. Could they? Should they?

_They should._

"Actually," said the Doctor, "I've got an even better idea. You're splitting up."

"What?" Each Amy spoke in unison.

"Doctor," interjected Rory, but he was waved away with a dismissive hand.

"We need answers. Solid facts. That's the only way we're getting to the bottom of what's going on here - right now we're just playing a guessing game that's got a nasty habit of running after us and wanting to eat our faces. There's something off about this whole Joseph duplication thing, but I can't put my finger on it - and given that I've got ten fingers and an extraordinarily clever brain, that says something."

The Doctor wandered among the group, piercing through Rory and the two Amys with a determined gaze. "You," he said, pointing to the nearest Amy before pointing into the destroyed office nearby. "You're going with Rory in there. Search everything, search everywhere. I need to know more about the person we're dealing with - Joseph's past, Joseph's plans, Joseph's favourite thing to do on a Saturday night. Anything that can give us some insight. I'd say feel free to make a mess, but it looks like you've been beaten to it. Do you understand?"

They both nodded, not daring to get in the way of the Doctor's train of thought - and right now, not daring to question it.

The Doctor then pointed to the other Amy. "You. You're coming with me. We're off to find out more about this base - how long it's been here, whether anyone else has ever had access to it, and most importantly, how to get to the energy flow that creates Joseph's duplications. I need to see it for myself - I need to know it works. And then maybe, just maybe, once we've done all of that, we'll stand a fighting chance of getting out of here alive."

The plan hung in the air like a pointed balloon, and all three returned complying nods to the Doctor before exchanging awkward glances, like a group of school children on the receiving end of a stern lecture. The Doctor seemed to register the change of tone, and offered a weak smile - an olive branch. "And when we do," he said, "how about we go to that ice cream planet? Double scoops on me?"

All three gave a light chuckle, the tension easing. The Doctor beamed. "I promise you, one of these days we'll look back on all this as just another one of those things that happened. And I trust each and every one of you to help get us there." He held up his left wrist, displayed his watch. "One hour. Rory and Amy, we'll meet you back here then. Other Amy, let's go find us some stuff."

The appropriate Amy joined the Doctor's side, and the two started making their way down the white hallway before the Doctor stopped mid-step. He looked back at Rory and his assigned Amy. "Look after each other," he said simply. He lingered his gaze, and then, satisfied, resumed his stride and rounded a corner - the group of four now groups of two.

The Doctor produced his sonic screwdriver from his jacket and, without slowing, scanned each passing doorway. "First things first," he said, "is for us to find high energy readings. That'll give us a clue on how to get down to the underground flow. Keep your eyes peeled for..." Awkwardly, he realised where his sentence was leading. "For energy."

"Doctor," ventured Amy. "I wanted to talk to you about the other Amy. About how we don't exactly... get along."

The Doctor looked at her. "Perhaps you never will. You're two of the same poles - the closer you're pushed together, the further apart you repel."

Amy responded with a polite smile. "There are some things in this universe that you can't reduce down with simple science. After all these years, don't you think human behaviour is one of them? Sometimes people just don't like each other. That's just how we're built. It could be because of the littlest things, something greater, or something that can't be defined at all. We're a world of different personalities, each with different tastes, opinions, feelings, and beliefs - the odds are pretty good that we'll clash more than we'll cuddle. And sometimes..." Amy looked at her shoes. "Sometimes the person we clash with most is ourself."

A wordless moment passed - one that was only given sound with the buzzing of the sonic screwdriver, still scanning each doorway. The Doctor appeared to be thinking this over. He leaned in to Amy and started, then stopped, to ask a question. He paused, considered the best approach, then said, almost in a whisper:

"Are you the real Amy?"

She looked back at him and took a moment of her own to consider a response, but before she could deliver it, the buzzing from the sonic screwdriver became louder, its tone much higher. The Doctor looked down at it, then at the door it pointed to. "Aha!" he exclaimed, opening the latch. "We have a lucky runner up!"

"Runner up?"

"Energy is as energy does," said the Doctor. "And we've found ourselves a room that's buzzing with it. No copy waterfall, but we do have a continuous flow of data, radio waves, electricity consumption..."

Amy followed the Doctor inside and examined her surroundings. "A communications room?"

Dozens of video displays occupied a far wall, with each bearing a different form of information to its neighbour - on one, a scattering of rapidly changing number clusters; on another, star charts; on yet another, flight trajectory paths punctuated with various dates. A central control panel, littered with buttons, switches and dials, stood at the foot of the monitor array, and a single seat was positioned in front of the lone microphone that offered audio output amid the barrage of data input.

"The jackpot of the communications room lottery," said the Doctor as he rubbed his hands together, punctuating it with a crack of his knuckles. "Let's have a stickybeak." He lowered himself into the chair and immediately began manipulating the complicated array before him - in the way he seemed to have innate knowledge of the sundry controls of the TARDIS, here the Doctor looked to be one with the machine. His fingers danced over the controls, skipping from one to the next in an instant, and the displays rapidly changed their readouts according to his whims. He glanced up to inspect them, then back down to the buttons and switches, then back up again. "Hmmm..." he muttered. "What kind of show are you running here, Joseph?"

"What is it?" asked Amy.

The Doctor pointed to a list of numbers. "See that? Dates and times of automated shuttle arrivals. Small, unmanned ships - supply ships, looks like. Food, building materials; they've been arriving like clockwork for years. Thousands of ships, all incoming, all returning empty. But then we get to this one entry here - see the different code? Different class of ship. It arrived, but it never left. So why would-"

He was cut off as a sharp burst of radio static filled the room. Microphone feedback. More static. Amy winced. "Argh, turn it down!"

"It's not me," said the Doctor, rotating a nearby dial in an effort to control the volume. "An external signal is syncing into this frequency." He tapped the microphone in front of him. "Hello? Anyone there? Mind dropping that to a dull roar?"

The noise immediately stopped, and an eerie silence replaced it. The Doctor looked stunned, then pleased. "I... didn't think that would work. Is the request window still open? Any chance for a Jammie Dodger? With tea? Just send it to the Doctor, care of the TARDIS."

A moment of microphone feedback. Then, a voice:

"The Doctor?"

It was a female voice; slightly hushed, and somewhat taken aback. It spoke again. "You... are you-you the Doctor?"

His blood ran cold. A chill from the dead. _It __couldn__'__t __be._

"Who is this?" he demanded.

There was no response. Amy approached the microphone, heaving a huff of frustration. "Oi, radio lady. The Doctor asked you a question."

Microphone feedback. The voice spoke again. "Is it... is it you? How can it be-be you?"

_That voice. That speech pattern. The occasional word, said twice._

The Doctor leaned forward, beads of sweat forming on his brow. "Who is this?"

"How can-can it be you?" the voice said again. "Amy. You're... dead."

**CHAPTER SIX COMING SOON!**


	6. At Death's Door

**CHAPTER 6: At Death's Door**

Paper. Books. Furniture. All of it was everywhere.

Standing in Joseph's destroyed office, Rory and Amy looked around for an indication - something, anything - that might suggest where to begin their search. But it was useless; the entire room was equally upended, broken. Flung about by a wild hand. Carnage was strewn from corner to corner, where one clump of debris looked about as helpful as the next.

"Well," said Rory, "Housekeeping's not going to like this."

Amy gave a light chuckle, and Rory smiled - partly from Amy's positive reaction, and partly from the sheer helplessness of the situation. What else could he do? An orderly office might point towards a frequently used item, or a lack of dust around an area where it was allowed to settle; clues that would lead to something of significance. But this… this was like looking for an extremely messy needle in an extremely messy haystack.

They stepped further into the room, casting out an occasional foot to toe over an ornament here, a stack of binder folders there. As they cleared the way forth, Amy spied what appeared to be a vertical wooden structure - almost some kind of barrier, about waist high and of decent thickness - towards the back of the room, sticking out from a floor of mess. She approached, bending down to excavate it from the surrounding debris, only to find that it was joined to a solid rectangular block at the base. A moment of confusion passed before Amy realised what she was looking at.

"Rory! Help me turn this over!"

He went to where she was standing. "Grab it there," she said, pointing to a position opposite her. "One, two, three!"

Together, they lifted the thing out of the rubble and, right way up, it revealed its true form: Joseph's upended, solid oak desk. Pushing it back upon its wide, sturdy base, the surface - thick and heavy - revealed a smattering of fist-sized indentations, cratered by splinters of wood. If the state of their surroundings didn't demonstrate it, here was clear evidence of the strength and the fury that this office once contained.

"Note to self," Rory said, running a finger into one of the heavy dents. "Stay out of this guy's way."

He looked at Amy, who greeted his gaze with fond eyes. "Thank you," she said simply, with a smile.

"For what?"

"For being you. In the middle of all this mess and danger, you're still you. And that means more to me than you'll ever know."

A bashful expression crossed Rory's face. "If there's one thing I can be, it's me."

"I'm glad," she said, moving towards him. "Because goodness knows there's more than enough of me right now."

Amy looked at Rory to gauge his reaction; his face fell ever so slightly, eyes suddenly elsewhere, as though they were avoiding direct contact. Seriousness overtook the lighthearted banter, and Amy's heart thumped cold. She repositioned herself so Rory couldn't help but look at her, and reached down to take a hand of his into her own.

"Rory," she said. "You do know which is the real me, don't you?"

It was the longest of pauses.

Seeking to escape her gaze, Rory glanced to his side, down to the desk… and something at its edge caught his attention. One of the fierce poundings on its surface had caused a drawer, once flush against the thickness of the wood, to protrude outwards at a jarring angle. "Look at this," he said.

He gave the drawer a firm pull, then another, and slowly worked it against the broken housing that compressed upon it from within. Eventually he managed to force it open, and he peered inside before fishing out its contents: a remote control, littered with buttons. Immediately, Amy recognised the device. "The first meeting," she said, snapping her fingers as she recalled that moment. "The TV!"

They both looked to the wall that housed the room's enormous video panel. Miraculously, it had escaped the brunt of Joseph's rage, sporting only a spiderweb crack in one corner, but appearing otherwise intact. Rory peered at the remote in his hands, held his breath, and pressed a button; sure enough, the panel came to life with a full-colour test pattern. "Shall we see if the cricket's on?" Rory joked.

"How about more of those surveillance tapes," said Amy. "Like the ones Joseph showed us earlier. Look around for a menu. Maybe there's some sort of archive here."

Rory inspected the buttons, eventually finding one marked with an appropriate icon. Pressing it produced an on-screen list of folders with a range of mundane and routine names.

ROSTER

MAINTENANCE

BACKUPS

One, however, clearly stood out:

PRIVATE

Rory opened it and discovered a list of video files, ordered by date and each with varying run times. He selected the first one, the earliest, and the screen immediately changed - a burst of static preceded a glimpse of what appeared to be the tight confines of a space shuttle cockpit. The camera's view swung around to reveal Joseph Banks, a few years younger than the suave, slick Banks that had greeted the three of them, and as he aimed the camera to himself at arm's length, he gave a faint smile.

"Well, I'm alive," he said down the lens. "But after that rough landing, I don't want to take anything for granted. So from this point on, it's video diaries of the entire expedition. Uhh…" He searched for what to say next. "I'm off the grid, somewhere in the Nhire sector. I've landed on some backwater rock - absolutely nothing here. Red dust as far as the eye can see. I'll suit up and take a look outside. There's a scattering of white fragments not far from here, which seems as good a place to start as any. Wish me luck…"

"He documented the whole thing," Amy said. "From the moment he arrived."

Rory nodded. "I think we've found our info mine. Let's play the rest."

The recording cut to static, and Rory moved on to the next video in the list. The timeline seemed to skip ahead, for this time Joseph, once again aiming the camera at himself, looked drenched with sweat at he stood in near-total darkness. "I finally managed to break through," he said between heaving breaths, each word echoing off distant walls of rock. "It's a cavern. An absolutely enormous cavern. And look at this." He swung the camera around to reveal a slight shimmering in the distance; flickers of gold, crimson, aqua, and brilliant white light all cascading downwards in an endless flow of energy. "I've got to check it out."

Static. The next video. The same location, but total silence.

Joseph's gaze looked stunned, distant. He just stared down into the camera, not knowing what to say, not knowing how to say it. He swallowed. "I don't believe it," he said finally, simply. "The flow... it... Well…" And by way of explanation, Joseph turned the camera's view around to a lone figure standing in front of the mysterious energy stream.

A second Joseph.

It - he - looked wordlessly down the camera's barrel before giving an awkward wave, and the view whipped around once more to focus back to the original Joseph. "He's me. He's exactly me." He looked at his copy, and a touch of suspicion infiltrated his amazement. "And that's exactly why I'll need to watch him constantly."

Static. The next video.

Lit by harsh fluorescent light, Joseph sat back against the crammed walls of his ship. "It's been a week," he said to the camera. "No adverse signs or symptoms from the copy." He paused, then chuckled. "Honestly, after all this time, it's good to have someone to talk to. Even if he does know the punchlines to all my jokes. But more than that, this discovery - this success - is more than enough reason for me to establish a permanent residence here. I need a proper base of operations. Proper facilities. A way to research what I've found, and to work out ways to harness it." Joseph paused. "But I'm going to need some help. A lot of help…"

Static. The next video.

Exposed beams. Wires. Pipes. Welding torches sent a shower of sparks into the air as Joseph panned the camera across two, three, four, five people, each working on various aspects of construction. As one turned to wipe the sweat from his brow, and another lifted his welding mask, it was clear that not only had enough time passed for Joseph to ship materials and commence working them into the beginnings of an established building, but that Joseph had made more copies of himself.

"Many hands make light work," he said from behind the camera, sounding a little out of breath. "These extra copies have been a huge help. And it got me thinking - there's a way to use this. To market this. Humanity's always looking for the next source of cheap labour. If I can get one of those Ood things and undercut the current market… well, that'd just be the beginning."

Static. The next video.

From Joseph's dramatic change in age and appearance, it looked like years had passed between video entries. "They're growing," he said, licking dry lips. "There's good days and bad days, and lately it's been more of the bad ones. I've got some medical equipment lined up for the next shuttle, so as soon as I'm able I'll do a biopsy and see what I'm dealing with."

Static. The next video.

An extremely pale, sweaty Joseph addressed the camera. "It's getting worse. The pain, the nausea, the shortness of breath. And I'm afraid the lack of a dedicated medical team here limits my prospects. The mind is willing, but the body is… dying."

Static. The next video.

Sitting at his oak desk and sporting a few extra wrinkles, Joseph tenderly held a photo frame in his hands. Wordless moments passed as he just sat there, looking at it. Finally, he spoke - and when he did, it was barely a whisper.

"I honestly don't know how long these tumours are going to give me… so I've asked that she come here." He took a deep breath. "If not to say hello, then to say goodbye. In any case, I can't be without her any longer. The comms room is finally finished, so I sent her my coordinates via a secure channel."

And Joseph smiled. He smiled the biggest smile one could ever look to see from another person. He heaved a happy sigh.

"She said she's on her way. My fiancée is coming." He checked his watch, still smiling. "See you in three years, Annette."

Amy turned to Rory. "He has a fiancée? But he said—"

"He said he wasn't married. Didn't say anything about being engaged."

Amy didn't respond.

Static. The next video.

Joseph was once again at his desk, where the evident passage of time had allowed a number of feint bulges to form on his face. Clearly, he was growing sicker. But it was the presence of a second person - a non-Joseph person - that attracted the most attention. Joining him in the camera's frame was a woman: long, flowing red hair, and wearing a simple white dress.

"She's here!" Joseph said, ecstatic beyond belief. "She's here! I have my Annette! Say hi!"

The woman waved at the camera. "Hello!" she said cheerfully, giving Joseph a kiss on the cheek.

Rory looked at Amy. "Hey, she kind of looks like you."

Amy wrinkled her nose in response. "She does not! She's old!"

"Well, the hair part at least. Same colour, same length."

That much was true, and try as she might, Amy could not deny it. The similarity was remarkable, and through squinted eyes or an obscured angle, one could easily be mistaken for the other.

_Same colour, same length._

* * *

><p>"Amy. You're… dead."<p>

Back in the communications room, the Doctor and Amy stood stone cold. Those words. Their message. Their tone of disbelief. But more than that - their speaker. Both of them had heard it before; that same, distinct quirk of random word repetition. There weren't many others who spoke that way, certainly none that the Doctor had encountered. And as he bent down to the microphone, he realised that could only mean one thing.

"Miranda?"

The speakers crackled, and the reply came through only in distorted fragments. "…all dead… …unusual life readings— … —anned the re— … —ow are you alive?"

The Doctor furiously tweaked the controls, trying to gain control of the fading signal. "Miranda? Stay with me - stay on this frequency!"

"…—RDIS. I'll find y—"

The crackling overtook the audio feed, drowning out any words that might have come through, then cut out to total silence. The signal was gone.

The Doctor thumped the panel in frustration, then whipped around to look Amy in the eye with a laser-focused stare. "That sounded like her, didn't it? That voice?"

Amy wrinkled her brow. "I guess?"

"Don't guess - guessing's the party game you play when people are getting dull." He gripped Amy by the shoulders. "You heard what I heard. You know that voice. Do you think it was her?"

She thought it over. "But I don't see how—"

"Neither do I!" The Doctor threw his hands in the air. "We saw her die, Amy. We saw her in pieces. That couldn't have been her, that shouldn't have been her. Except it was." He let his words hang in the room, in order to consider their full weight. "An impossible moment," he said in wonder.

Wonder, however, turned on its heel to seriousness as the Doctor regained his focus.

"We're leaving," he said firmly. "Now."

* * *

><p>Static. The next video.<p>

Joseph's happiness had now given way to something more melancholy. He sat at his desk, alone. "She wants me to go back with her," he said. "To leave all I've created here and return home. And any other day, I would. I love her. I want to be with her. But… but I don't think I can go. Not yet. An Ood came through on the last shuttle, so it's time to see if this idea of mine has any weight. There's still so much I want to do before I…"

Joseph sighed with a heavy heart. He couldn't finish.

Static. The next video.

"A resolution," Joseph said, leaning eagerly into the camera. "One that suits us both. Annette is leaving…" As Joseph spoke, she entered the left of the frame to stand at his side. "But she is also staying."

A second Annette appeared, this time from the right.

"You're kidding," said Rory. "He copied her too? Just so he could be with…" Air quotes punctuated his last word. "'Her'?"

Static. The next video.

This time, Joseph's face was gripped with concern. "The Ood idea is a complete failure," he said grimly. "The original specimen was taken down to the energy flow, exposed to it, and produced copies. But as soon as the copies were shifted from the flow to here, they went… they went bad. Violently bad." He wiped his brow. "It took eighteen of me to get them out of the airlock; I lost five in the process. As to why it happened, all I've got at the moment are theories. It could be that the duplication process doesn't fully support Ood biology, and introduces an infection among the copies. Or it could be a faulty Ood. Or it could be that all copies, regardless of species, are infected. Which means my staff. Which means… Annette."

Static. The next video.

For the longest time, Joseph just cried. Huge, heaving sobs wracked his entire body, with flowing streams of tears cutting into his wrinkled face. In between breaths, he finally managed to speak. "I had to do it," he cried. "I didn't know which one was her. They both said the same thing, they both looked the same… but I couldn't risk sending the copy back home by mistake. If there's an infection, it needs to stay here, not exposed to a larger population. I didn't know which was which. Each insisted they were the real one. They fought, they tried to head for the ship. I had to… I had to… _kill both of them._"

With those words, Joseph completely lost it. He cradled his head in folded arms, and howled in anguish. Amy and Rory could only look at the vision open-mouthed. "That poor man," said Amy. "Unthinkable."

Rory didn't know how to respond. Joseph's raw emotion seemed to take the grit off the man that caused his teeth to grind with each obvious move he - well, his copy - made on Amy. "Sympathy for a murderer?" he finally asked.

"Look at him," she said. "Like he had a choice."

Joseph's sobs filled the room. "Go to the next one," pleaded Amy. "It's too much."

Static. The next video.

He looked like a broken man. Physically and emotionally. His face weathered with wrinkles, Joseph talked to the camera stony-faced, his voice containing no emotion. "A day of revelations," he said bitterly, "and a day of setbacks. The Ood produced a fresh batch, but this time instead of keeping it at the flow I sent it to the surface along with the copies. I guess I wanted to see it face to face - the face of constant failure. I… well, there's no polite way to say this. I snapped. I lost it. I took a crowbar and I beat that Ood to death. And then, almost immediately, the new batch turned, just like all the others. They went bad when the original Ood died. Perhaps infection's got nothing to do with it… yet it still doesn't explain why they were turning bad earlier. It still doesn't explain why mine haven't. Yet there's no denying the cause and effect between host death and the change in copy behaviour." He shook his head. "It's a discovery that comes too late for Annette, but one that's key to ensuring the survival of this base and my staff. I need to make some arrangements. First and foremost, however, I'll be needing a fresh Ood."

Static. The next video. And Joseph looked even worse.

His neck swollen, his skin pale and drenched with a sheen of sweat, Joseph struggled to talk to the camera. "I can't take more than a few steps before needing to find somewhere to sit." He gave a sick chuckle. "Had to install a gas chamber to get rid of the bad batches; there's so many of them, and I'm running out of me. Seemed like a more efficient way to deal with them than the airlock. Humane, too, if that's even an appropriate word to use at this point. I don't know. I don't know anything anymore."

Static. The next video.

Now an old man, Joseph sat propped up with giant pillows on a hospital bed, surrounded by machines emitting various beeps and tones. A plastic tube ran into his nose. His greying hair was patchy. He didn't seem to acknowledge the camera. "Effective immediately," he wheezed, "and until further notice, I'm transferring all day-to-day duties to my original copied self. He's still as strong as I was on the day of creation, and throughout the years, he's not aged one bit." He gave a derisive chuckle. "In lieu of an heir, what better way to carry on my legacy than with myself?"

Joseph coughed violently, and a single tear rolled down his cheek. "God, I miss her. I miss her every single day. Why couldn't things be different? We could have gotten married, we could have had the rest of our lives together. Why couldn't she…" He trailed off as the tears overtook his senses. No more words were coming.

Rory looked at Amy in disbelief. "That's why he wanted to copy you? To be the bride he never had?"

She returned his look with one of outrage. "No! The old man wanted his bride! His copies—"

"—are the exact same person he is. Same memories, same feelings. And the moment you stepped up with your red hair and flirty eyes, Joseph's first copy was all over you before you could say 'substitute-ginger-matrimony'."

Rory's words stung into Amy. They hurt. Yet even as she worked through their barbs, she couldn't deny their implication. Of course she noticed Joseph's attention. And, yes, of course, she returned it. What person doesn't want to be desired by another? But here, in this situation - that man, those motives…

"Oh my god," she gaped. "I'm a substitute ginger."

A moment passed before she regained her senses, and promptly dealt a hefty slap to Rory's arm. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Well, I was—"

Static. The video display cut to a new scene: a high angle looking downwards onto clean, polished steel floors, housed lighting, support beams, girders, robot arms… the array almost looked like the assembly floor of a car factory, filled with various machines and machines all working together. And towards the back of the room, flanked by steel columns set into exposed rock, they could see a shimmering multicoloured stream - the energy flow itself. Evidentially, the entire cavern had undergone significant renovations and upgrades over the years. Here, it looked remarkably streamlined.

"Is this the next video?" asked Amy.

"There's no more," said Rory. "That was the last one. This is live footage."

They looked again, examining the stillness of the scene and recalling how the location was presented to them upon arrival. The meshed walkways had been removed altogether, now incorporating a series of conveyer belts that continued through beyond the edge of the frame. The cavern seemed to have been totally refitted, restructured. Rebuilt to an automated design, requiring not a single human to be present for its operation.

But Rory spotted something. "Look at that," he said as he pointed to the screen. Leaning in, they saw a simple cage dangling on a chain, hanging just to the side of the energy flow and containing a lone humanoid figure behind its bars. Its distant location obscured its details, but they both squinted in further for a closer look.

Sudden movement. A violent, dark shadow entered the frame, moving its limbs with frightening speed. Rory and Amy pulled back in surprise - it was Joseph's primary copy. It - no longer human enough to be considered a 'he' - rushed about the room, sniffing the air. Assessing its surroundings. It looked towards the dangling cage, then turned to look directly at the camera. It growled, then raced towards it, rapidly filling the frame with its torn, rage-filled body, then with its snarling face. Two savage eyes stared down the lens, and a raised fist was visible for only a split second before it was brought forth in a thundering smash. The video feed severed, and the monitor cut to the test pattern.

Rory turned to Amy. "He's down there right now. He's at the energy flow. And the moment he steps into it, he's going to produce more copies."

"More copies of an already savage self," Amy said. "This place is going to be overrun. I think I see now why this planet only had bones and dust before Mr Smooth showed up."

"I knew it," said a voice.

Rory and Amy turned around to see the Doctor and the other Amy standing at the destroyed office door.

"Knew what?" asked Rory.

"How long have you been standing there?" said the Amy standing beside him.

"Long enough to see a good portion of those videos. Long enough to join the dots on why Joseph's Ood always fail."

"What do you mean?" asked Rory. "Joseph said he was still no closer to finding the cause."

The Doctor nodded. "Yes. He did say that. But he didn't realise the answer was staring him in the face - right before he smashed it in."

"I don't follow," said Rory.

"Think about it. Think about the process of duplication. A life form is exposed to the energy flow. Copies are produced. The copies are sent to the surface. The copies then degrade."

"Right, when the host life form dies."

The Doctor clapped his hands. "But not _only_ when the host life form dies!" He grinned, and looked among the three, waiting for penny to drop so they could join him in his knowledge.

It didn't. They didn't. And his face fell into a look of disappointment.

"The energy flow? Its location? Oh, you lot. It's not just about keeping the source alive - that's only part of it. Copies need to be kept within _range_, too! That Ood is kept down in that cave, but its copies are shipped away, to this base. A not insignificant distance separates them, making the psychic link lose its strength."

"Except for that time when Joseph brought the original Ood up to the surface," an Amy noted. "The source remained with the copies - until he killed it."

"Joseph said the energy flow was like a prism," the Doctor continued, "but really, it's like a transmitter. Think of a radio signal being broadcast - one source reaches many radios. But move too far away from the signal… and you get static."

"And that's what's happening here?" asked Rory.

"Obviously! Not only do you need a live host link, but you need it to be within range. Without either, it's as good as dead. That's why the Ood copies were going baddy-smashy: Joseph only knew that the original Ood needed to be kept alive. He didn't have any clue about proximity."

"That's all great," said the Amy standing beside the Doctor, "and I'm glad we've helped a dead billionaire with his problem, but what about Joseph's main clone? He's down at the energy flow right now, ready to make a whole new army of himself."

"Seems I misjudged that lone wolf," the Doctor said. "His will is strong. Perhaps him being granted the role of the leader trained his mind to be stronger. He's keeping a tighter grip. Perhaps there's still some semblance of intelligence. The way he looked up at the camera, the way he destroyed it, it's like he doesn't want anyone to see what he's going to do." The Doctor paused. "It's like he has a plan."

The Doctor halted mid-thought when the entire room suddenly fell into near total darkness. All ambient noise instantly stopped, replaced by a cavernous, hollow silence. A few wordless seconds passed before a heavy _click_ sounded from somewhere within the walls, and slowly, as some offsite generator gained momentum, a dull red light gradually filled the emergency bulbs overhead, casting the room and its occupants in an flat, eerie hue.

"Hmm…" said the Doctor.

Both Amys looked equally alarmed. "What happened?" they asked in unison.

As quietly as he could, the Doctor tiptoed towards the exposed office door. He spoke slowly, cautiously. "Power's been cut." Poking his head out into the hallway, he saw the same red light stretched out from wall to wall, end to end. "Base-wide, by the looks of it. Emergency lights are making sure we don't bump our heads, but…"

A pause.

"But what?" asked Rory.

The Doctor didn't respond, and as the three approached him he walked a few steps further, out into the red hallway and to one of the many doors that lined its lengths. His face, an expression of concern, turned into instant alarm when he noticed the door's latch.

The handle. It was flicked upwards.

He whipped his head around, left and right, and scanned the rest. Upwards. Upwards. All of them. Terrified, he looked back at Rory and the two Amys. "The electric doors - they're all offline. Every single one is open by default."

Rory's eyes widened. "Even the one to the original Joseph's room?"

"It's a door, it has a latch, it's open. The Josephgaggle in there is free to roam. It's only a matter of time before they…" The Doctor trailed off, not allowing himself to finish that sentence. He pursed his lips. "Come on."

He beckoned the three to his side, and together they hugged the walls of the corridor, creeping along its lengths and controlling the sound of every footstep. The red light bathed the entire facility, making every turn, every hallway, resemble a photographer's darkroom. And it was in that atmosphere where, in the distance, something couldn't help but stand out: a vertical slice of white light was beaming out from an ajar door, with a bulky, heavy steel door positioned right beside it.

The Doctor approached the light and immediately recognised where he was. "This…" He looked at it carefully, and gave the lit door a push with an extended finger. The mechanism, powered down, allowed it to slide open fluidly, and the Doctor poked his head into the room to verify its contents.

"The control room to the gas chamber. And through there," —he pointed to the steel door— "the TARDIS."

An Amy craned her neck to inspect the open room, but the obvious lighting difference caused her to bite her lip with suspicion. "It's fully powered," she noted. "As though someone wanted to drive us here, to this specific spot."

"Yes," the Doctor said simply.

"And you're okay with that."

"No."

"But you're going in anyway."

And by way of an answer, the Doctor stepped into the control booth, leaving the others little option but to follow.

Inside, it looked like the memories of the once-pristine base. A narrow room with spotless white walls and floors was lit from above by a brilliant light. Directly opposite was what logic should class as a control panel, but only a handful of switches were present to offer any sort of control. Four simple buttons were housed in an otherwise blank deck, with a fifth, larger one situated right below. Its form, however - big, red and ominous - was an obvious display of its function, and a clear reminder of the room's purpose.

That reminder was hammered home via the enormous pane of glass that took up the entire far wall, just above the control deck. The Doctor stared inwards: it looked into a larger room, the corners curving upward and leading the eye to dozens of tiny nozzles in the ceiling. Beneath them stood the TARDIS, majestic in the contrast of its royal blue against the spartan white, and now only a few precious feet from the Doctor's reach. And standing beside it…

Standing beside it was a lone Ood.

Calmly, innocently, it stood there, looking at the Doctor with a simple gaze. Bloodied handprints were splattered all over its outfit, creasing the normally crisp grey attire into a mottled mess. Clearly, it had been moved here by—

"Oh no," whispered the Doctor.

Rory heard a shuffling from outside the room. Curious, he stuck his head out and looked down the length of the red hallway - there, standing in the distance, and staring right back at him, was Joseph. The initial copy. Its clothes were tattered and its skin was scratched raw with claw marks, their depth and freshness evident from the blood on its hands. And even from his distant position, Rory could see that its mouth was showcasing a sinister, twisted leer. Almost one of cunning. It made no effort to move; it simply stood there, grinning. Waiting.

Knowing.

"Doctor, he's out there. The Joseph copy."

An Amy turned her head in confusion. "What about his friends?"

"It's just him. He's alone. Doctor?"

He didn't respond. The Doctor looked at the control panel, then at the Ood, then back at the panel. "No," he muttered to himself. "No-no-no-no-no-no…"

Bent right down to the panel, he squinted deep into every crevice of every switch he could find. He ran his finger over a button and put it to his tongue. He pressed his face to the pane of glass that looked into the chamber and peered up into every corner of the room - from left to right, top to bottom, desperately trying to inspect as much as the limited field of vision would allow. He pushed the glass, thumped against it, tested its thickness. He meticulously inspected every possible element in every possible way, all while keeping a cautious eye on that single red button.

The TARDIS.

The Ood.

The only way in.

"Can't you just sonic it open?" asked an Amy.

The Doctor's patience was wearing thin. "Hardwired failsafe mechanism, remember? Any attempt to force the door will cause deadly gas to release first as a precautionary measure. In case something from inside is attempting to get out. Full release and clear." He inhaled deeply, a feeble attempt to calm clearly jangled nerves. The other Amy, however, had already pieced together the situation.

"So the only way in is to…"

"Press the button."

Amy paused. "But that means you'll kill the—"

"Don't you think I know that?" the Doctor snapped, looking right at her. "Yes, the Ood will die. Gas will fill every inch of that room and a nice, innocent Ood who did absolutely nothing wrong will have its life taken against its will. But it's just one Ood, isn't it? What's one Ood? What's a dozen, a thousand? What gives anyone the right to decide what life is worth?" Fury growing, he pounded the glass with an angry fist, and shouted deep and loud. "_What gives you the right, Joseph?_"

Rory and the two Amys were taken aback, shocked by the outburst of raw Doctor emotion. Yet as much as they understood it, they didn't know how respond. They searched, and the Doctor heaved deep, angry breaths, forcing himself to calm down - to regain some level of control over his emotions. He looked among the three, then into the room at the Ood. True to Ood form, it returned the Doctor's gaze with a serene, benign expression, its head cocked slightly to one side. It blinked once, twice. "I hope I'm not causing you too much trouble," it said through its glowing translator sphere.

The Doctor grimaced through a whirlpool of emotion. His throat tightened, unable to respond. And even if he managed to scrape together a handful of words, what could he possibly say? He forced himself to look away; looking into those eyes was just too much.

Instead, he stared down at the control panel before him. At the circle of red.

The Doctor heaved the longest breath as his vision grew misty. He tried to blink away the tears. He couldn't.

"Forgive me," he whispered. "Please."

And he pushed the button.

**CHAPTER SEVEN - THE FINAL CHAPTER - COMING SOON!**


	7. Split Decisions

**CHAPTER 7: Split Decisions**

Noxious green gas filled the chamber. It billowed downwards, thick and heavy, and slowly enveloped the Ood in a toxic cloud. Save for the gentlest of head turns as it examined the gas, the Ood remained motionless - it simply stood in place. Not oblivious to the situation, but… obliging it. Obeying its final instruction. And it wasn't long before the Ood completely disappeared in the vapours.

From his position at the control deck, behind the glass, the Doctor stared into the room. He, too, did not move. Could not move.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, tasting the salt from his tears.

Rory put a hand on the Doctor's shoulder, not knowing what else to do. Words weren't coming, and the ones that did didn't seem to stack up anywhere near to the gravity of the Doctor's situation. Although he hadn't known him all that long, Rory could sense that this action - this forced, necessary action - was one that the Doctor did not perform lightly. Clearly, its weight would carry with him.

The Doctor blinked once, twice. He looked down at the control panel before him, then turned around to face Rory and the two Amys. "The door's open," he said simply. "Airlock. Now."

They filed out into the corridor, the space still shrouded in foreboding red light. Rory looked over his shoulder to see that the dark figure of Joseph had not moved - but this time, instead of cunning insight, its expression was one of confusion. Bewilderment. It cocked its head, and immediately, the muscles in its neck tensed when it realised where the group was heading.

The Doctor ushered the three into the small airlock, and as they entered, he produced his sonic screwdriver and scanned the keycard panel of a door across the hall. It only took a few seconds - he looked at the screwdriver, seemed satisfied with the results, and nimbly dashed into the airlock as the thick steel doors automatically clanged shut. Blasts of cold air hosed down from above, ruffling their hair and clothes, and filled the space with loud, harsh hissing. The air died down. Then, nothing.

"Now what?" asked an Amy, her voice echoing from the thick steel walls.

"The chamber door won't open until the gas is removed," said Rory. "We need wait for the room to clear."

A deafening pounding battered against the airlock door - angry, powerful fists hammered into the metal. All four backed away as much as the confined space would allow, pressing themselves against the far end of the room.

"Well, it'd better hurry up," said the other Amy. "Because someone's not happy."

"Joseph," the Doctor said simply - more to himself than the others. "Look at what you've become."

_Bang, bang, bang!_ The noise continued, and despite its strength, the door started to move inward with each pounding. Both Amys screamed.

"Doctor, do something!"

He didn't respond - and he didn't need to, for as if on cue, the opposing airlock door slid open into the white-walled gas chamber, its air cleaned of all poisons. The four scrambled inside and raced towards the TARDIS, but immediately noticed the Ood body crumpled in the middle of the floor. They stopped, the sight putting immediate lead weights in their shoes - the Doctor in particular. There was no mistaking it: a dead body, born from his decision, born from their needs. Their priorities, deemed more important than the life of another.

There was no mistaking that.

Gingerly, and with as much respect as the situation could allow, Rory and the two Amys toed their way around the body and stood at the doors of the TARDIS. The Doctor, however, slowly kneeled and put a hand to the Ood's head. Noticing its eyes were still open, staring up into glassy nothingness, he gently closed them shut. It wouldn't absolve his actions - the Doctor clearly knew that. Perhaps nothing would. But he also knew he had to—

A dull thud sounded from within the room, thick and heavy. They looked into the control room to see Joseph standing at the deck, two bloodied hands pressed against the glass, its face looking inward with furious energy. Intent. Focused. One man - or what was left of him - behind the glass, staring at the intruders and their mysterious blue box.

"Funny," the Doctor mused, "how the universe dovetails."

Rory gestured towards Joseph. "What's he doing there?"

A slight smile crawled across the Doctor's lips - one of realisation. Of a long-lost puzzle piece falling into place, despite it completing a less than desirable image.

"He's watching."

"I don't get it," said an Amy. "He's at the button. One press and he could kill us all. So why doesn't he?"

The Doctor turned to face both Amys. "Because of you. Because of… one of you."

He put a hand on Rory's shoulder and led him a few paces away from the TARDIS, away from both Amys. "It's a day of tough decisions" he said, voice lowered. "And I've hit my quota. Now it's your turn."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm trying to put this delicately. You know what we need to do, and I can't do it again. I need your help, Rory. I need you to take care of… this."

Rory's eyes widened, knowing exactly what 'this' meant. "Doctor, no. There's got to be a way. We can just take them with us. We can just—"

"No," the Doctor said gently. "We can't. The moment those two are far enough apart, it's all over. One's our Amy, the other's a wild monster. It'd only be a matter of time, and you've seen what those things can do. We can't take both, but we need the right Amy. You need to decide which is which."

"But how?" Rory pleaded. "How can I? Look at them - they're both the same. They're both real."

"Only one of them is real. The other was created by an outside force only hours ago."

That prickled Rory. "And that's the benchmark, is it? Hours versus years makes it less deserving to live?"

"That's not what I said and you—"

"Is she alive, Doctor?" Rory's voice began to gain volume and conviction in equal measure. "The copy? Is she living? Breathing? Is she a living person?"

"We came here with one Amy," said the Doctor, deadpan. "We're not leaving with two. Sometimes, not everybody can live. If you're going to travel with us, maybe it's best you learn that now."

"But why should I choose which one gets to survive?"

"_Because it's one of her or all of us!_"

The Doctor's outburst echoed off each white wall, and a stone cold silence immediately followed. Both Amys looked on with fearful eyes - it was clear to all in the room, now more than ever, of what choice needed to be made.

Taking a deep breath, the Doctor stared Rory straight in the eye. He pointed to Joseph, still standing behind the glass. "That thing wants its wife. That's all that matters. You and me, we're just in the way of a desperate attempt to hold on to a copied dream. To restart a missed opportunity. But unlike that thing, you _know_ Amy. You've grown up together, made countless memories together, laughed and cried together. You've shared dreams and desires. Shared hope. Shared love. Deep down, right here—" the Doctor tapped Rory's chest "—you know you know her. Deep down, you know there's no one else in this universe that you love more than your one true Amelia Pond."

Rory didn't respond. He could only manage a nod - slow, understanding. Accepting.

"Please, Rory. Make the right choice. Because you know what happens if you get it wrong."

He gulped. "Yeah. I know."

The Doctor braced him with a hand on each shoulder and looked him square in the eye. Man to Time Lord. The full weight of the task hanging between them both.

"Make the right choice," the Doctor said. "Give us our Amy."

He quietly stepped back, produced the key to the TARDIS from his breast-pocket, and unlocked the craft's blue door. He stepped inside, leaving it open - and leaving Rory facing the two Amys. Both looked pale. Both looked frightened.

Both looked exactly the same.

"Rory," an Amy said, voice crackling. "You're scaring me."

"Why aren't we leaving?" asked the other.

Rory's heart thumped in his chest. "We are leaving. Very soon. We just need to… sort some things out first. We need to make sure we're all here… I mean, that we're leaving as we arrived." He looked between the two Amys - left, right, left, right. "That everyone is present and accounted for."

"You don't have to do this," said an Amy. "The Doctor - he told you to only pick one us, didn't he."

Silence. Rory couldn't respond - yet the silence said everything.

Amy shook her head in disbelief. "That Doctor," she said. "That stupid, heartbreaking man…"

"I'm sorry," Rory said, his eyes welling with tears. "I've got to."

The other Amy pushed herself up to Rory, confident and determiend. "Well let me make it easy for you - this is me, right here. Flesh and blood, mind and body. This is me. I'm the real Amy."

"Don't listen to her," said the other. "Look at me. You know me - you've always known me."

A fearful tone overtook both their voices as they drowned Rory with their pleas. He examined both Amys - it seemed useless to decide. Absurd. His Amy, in stereo, was there somewhere… but each was exactly as convincing as the other. Each clutched him with terrified eyes, a mirror image of the other's desperate fight to live.

"Rory, please," cried an Amy, not bothering to hide her tears. "You can't leave me behind. You know it's me. She didn't come here - she was created here."

"Stop it!" Rory begged. "Stop it, both of you. Just… I need to think. I need to…"

He steadied his breath and tried to shift his focus from the frantic commotion. Looking at the floor, he found the white tiled pattern a soothing stimulus - soothing, at least, in comparison to the dilemma before him. Rory stood perfectly still as he held onto that image, that pattern, and closed his eyes, picturing the room in his mind and forcing his body to sense its place, to sense the walls around him. To picture the Amys standing in front of him. And slowly - agonisingly so - he looked up at one and stared right into her eyes.

_Deep breath._

_Exhale._

He looked at the other Amy.

_Deep breath._

_Exhale._

He looked back at the first Amy.

_Deep breath._

And lightning quick, he grabbed her hand, dragged her into the TARDIS, and slammed the door.

"Go!" Rory yelled.

Immediately, the room shook as the TARDIS set into motion. The Doctor, working the controls at the central console, looked over as Rory held Amy in a tight embrace. Behind them, the sounds of a desperate pounding battered the doors. Desperate crying. Screaming.

And as the TARDIS gained momentum, the sounds slowly faded.

Amy cried hysterically into Rory's shoulder, emotions tumbling into a torrent of words. "I thought you were going to leave," she sobbed. "I thought… you were… going… without me…"

"It's okay," Rory said, gently stroking her hair. "You're here. It's over."

Amy looked up at him. "How did… how did you know it was me?"

He searched for the right words. How to explain it? "I just knew," he said. "I don't know how. Deep down, I just knew when I looked at you - when I really looked at you. I could see it."

A pause hung between the two before Rory ventured further, his expression reflecting an attempt to lighten the mood. "I could also see the way you were looking at a certain space billionaire," he said, emphasising a playful tone.

Amy leaned back in disbelief, blinked through the tears. "Joseph? I did not!"

"You did so," he teased. "Trust me, there was some definite swooning there."

"Well how do you think I felt? I saw how you were looking at that other me."

It was Rory's turn to express disbelief. "I did not! I mean… but she was you!"

"No, I'm me. There's only one me." Her voice softened. "Though I must say you've got good taste."

Rory smiled. "You'll always be the Amy I'll want."

And they kissed. Passionately.

The Doctor, still at the console, inserted his sonic screwdriver into a port and furiously tapped away at the typewriter. "I downloaded the door security algorithm just before we left," he said, head trained downward. "Got access to the entire complex. All those doors that were swinging wide open?" A pause, which he punctuated with a triumphant final click. "Now you can count the exterior airlocks among them. Only a matter of time before physics and nature does the rest and…"

The Doctor looked up at Rory and Amy, still kissing. His face reflected gradual realisation. "…and right now, none of this matters to either of you in the slightest. Doctor understands, Doctor talks later."

They broke the kiss and looked over at him with a smile. As Amy turned her attention back to Rory with an extra peck on the cheek, the Doctor silently mouthed two words to Rory with unreserved sincerity:

_Thank you._

Hand in hand, Amy and Rory joined the Doctor at the TARDIS console. "So what happened to them?" asked Amy. "To Joseph and duplicate me, I mean."

"You're the broadcasting tower of Amy FM," said the Doctor. "Our distance has broken the signal. Down there, she's… well, you know. Just like him. A perfect sort of match, when you think about it, and only one way in to bring them together. If there's any sliver of humanity left in that man, perhaps now he's learning the true value of life."

"But what if someone finds them?" asked Rory. "That communications room you discovered - couldn't someone trace the signal back?"

The Doctor shook his head. "Secure frequency. No-one else knows about that planet. And no-one else has called in."

That caught Amy's attention. She looked at Rory before leaning in to whisper to the Doctor. "But what about that voice we—"

"Later," he whispered sharply.

A puzzled expression crossed Amy's face. "You're not going to tell him?"

"Later."

Amy said nothing, and the Doctor noticed her confusion. "Not until we know more," he offered. "And believe me, we're going to find out."

He spun on his heel and turned to Rory, giving him a hefty slap on the shoulder. "So, Mister Williams. You and your beloved have stared down certain death at the edge of the universe. That's just the beginning - tomorrow you might be running from wild Astrolords or chasing down a Foamasi who's legging it with your spare change. Still want to be part of our little expedition?"

Rory nodded. "Yeah."

"Are you sure? What happened to safe?"

"What do you really learn from safe?" Rory asked. "Safe cushions you. It reinforces what you already know. But risk teaches. You learn from risk. That's why you keep travelling, isn't it Doctor? It's not just to learn about others, it's so you can learn more about yourself. And I've learned a lot about me." He put his arm around Amy. "About us."

The Doctor smiled. "So that's definitely a yes?"

Rory matched it. "That's definitely a yes."

"Then we're away!" The Doctor's fingers danced across the TARDIS controls. "Hergrall Five? The Irgon Cluster? Karass Don Slava? It's all up for grabs!"

Amy pulled Rory towards her, and the two tightened in their embrace. The Doctor's smile, however, soon gave way to guilt - his mind was still reeling with what he had committed. A life, ended by his hand. One that had done no wrong. He couldn't just shake that away. But how-

Amy approached his side, looking at him with concern. "Doctor? Are you okay?"

His mouth curled dismissively. "Oh, you know me."

"Yeah, I do. That's why I'm asking."

He froze - no charade here. The Doctor exhaled deeply. "I will be," he said.

Amy squeezed his shoulder sympathetically. "Talk if you need to. Any time. Promise?"

The Doctor nodded, and feigned a smile. Amy weighed it up, nodded in response, and turned to head back to Rory. And as the Doctor's attention moved across the TARDIS controls, his eyes were caught by the monitor overhead - the screen, somehow activated, was flickering between a number of different signals. Static, text, static, an image, static. Overlapping data competing for bandwidth. Brow furrowed, he turned a dial and gradually steadied the signal, and turned another to filter out the noise. Finally, it all came together, and the Doctor studied the result. He blinked, studied it again. His eyes darted to Rory and Amy.

"Not if I find you first," he whispered.

And he turned the monitor off.

**THE END**

* * *

><p><strong><strong>AUTHOR NOTE: <strong>Yes, I know. The ending is mighty similar to that of "The Girl Who Waited". Hand on heart, I started working on this story long before news of that episode came to light, and when it did, I was about two or three chapters into writing, and I just... well, I couldn't believe it. Beaten to the punch. I always knew that my story needed to end with Rory having to choose the right Amy - it just needed to. And so I put it away and buried the idea of ever finishing it.**

**Months passed, and part of me got thinking: perhaps the similarity between endings is a sign that I'm plotting my stories right. If such an ending is used on the show itself, then my approach must have some merit. That's what I strive for with my work: to be as good as the writing on the actual series. So I continued. I finished it. And now, I'm throwing myself upon the mercy of you, the reader. (Here's hoping that by the time I finish my third and final story, season seven hasn't already done it!)**

**Thanks for reading.**


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